


bare feet upon wet sand

by NikaWithSpice



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Fix It Fic, Fuhrer Roy Mustang, Ghost Edward Elric, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, No character death i promise, Roy Mustang has a bit of a mental breakdown, Roy Mustang is depressed, Roy Mustang needs a hug, Teeny bit of angst, Underage Sex, alcoholism as a bad coping method, artistic creativity with lore, i forgot to mention, slightly dubcon underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23713027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaWithSpice/pseuds/NikaWithSpice
Summary: Roy thrashes into awareness with a strangled scream, fighting against the blankets tangled around his legs, bare fingers snapping in retaliation to an attack that exists only in his nightmares. His heart is a rabid creature threatening to burst free from his chest and Roy forces himself to slow his breathing, to calm himself. His shirt clings to his skin, his body is drenched in sweat. Roy reminds himself where he is; at home, in his own bed. There is no danger because the danger is over, they fought Father and his minions and they won. Amestris and it’s people are safe.Roy reaches for the lamp beside his bed, functioning on pure instinct, only to find no light when the damned thing clicks on.Right.He's blind.Truth stole his vision.He's blind and useless, and Edward is gone.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric/Edward Elric/Roy Mustang, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Killwaii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killwaii/gifts).



> *waves shyly* hi! I've absolutely loved writing this and I hope you all enjoy reading it!

_Fire._

_The entire world is burning bright; the city, the ground, the sky._

_The people._

_Himself._

_He’s on his hands and knees, fire licking at his coat, hungry flames ravenous for more– more fuel, more bodies, more lives, more souls. The fire will never be satisfied and it is all his fault– he created it, he gave it life, he set it free upon this city, upon these people. He deserves this, deserves for the heat to melt his boots off his feet, melt his skin from his bones._

_He deserves to die here, buried beneath the blood-soaked sands alongside the mass graves of all the lives he’s taken._

_The fire is so hot the sand is turning to glass in places, glass that cracks and shatters under that same heat. Someone grabs his arm and yanks him to his feet, drags him across the barren desert. Beyond, behind the wall of black smoke, emerges the cap of a massive palace, surrounded by a sprawling city that gleams gold in the flickering flames of the savage fire that seeks to swallow it whole. The person is dragging him towards the city, over a sea of burning sand and glass._

_His feet are bare upon the wet sand and when he chances a look down, he sees the shifting grains of the desert are a deep, dark red._

_Blood._

_The sand is soaked in blood. The desert is an ocean of blood and he’s going to die, caught in the vicious waves. He’s going to drown with sand burning the back of his throat, grinding the moisture in his eyes to grit, scraping the skin from his bones._

_He’s going to die here, alone and crushed beneath the weight of his sins, and he will deserve every agonizing second of his death._

_“Get up! Get up, you lazy bastard! Get up and fight! Get on your knees and crawl! Survive!”_

_He shakes his head as a blast of fiery smoke whips at the tattered remnants of his clothes. His eyes are burning, he cannot even see the person holding him upright, screaming in his ear for him to get moving._

_“I cannot,” he rasps before he doubles over, coughing from the sand and the smoke and the fire. “I just cannot–”_

_‘Then wake the fuck up!’_

And he does; Roy thrashes into awareness with a strangled scream, fighting against the blankets tangled around his legs, bare fingers snapping in retaliation to an attack that exists only in his nightmares. His heart is a rabid creature threatening to burst free from his chest and Roy forces himself to slow his breathing, to calm himself. His shirt clings to his skin, his body is drenched in sweat. Roy reminds himself where he is; at home, in his own bed. There is no danger because the danger is over, they fought Father and his minions and they won. Amestris and it’s people are safe.

Roy reaches for the lamp beside his bed, functioning on pure instinct, only to find no light when the damned thing clicks on.

Right.

He's blind.

Truth stole his vision.

He's blind and useless, and Edward is gone.

Edward and Alphonse both are gone, the world stripped of their brilliance long before their time.

What use would his eyesight even be, if Edward is not standing there before him? Cursing at him and yelling, demanding that he get up and hold to his promise? What good is a promise if the person he promised it to is no longer there to see the fruits of his labor?

Roy scrapes his hands over his face, sighing heavily as he slumps back upon his bed, exhausted. He just woke up but perhaps more sleep will make him feel better.

No. Sleep will mean more nightmares, which will only make him feel even worse. Nightmares will remind him of all the atrocities that he’s committed, all of the horrors he’s wrought upon the world. All of the lives that he’s ruined. All of the people that he’s disappointed.

God but Edward would be so disappointed in him, as would Alphonse. And Maes, Maes would be the most disappointed of all.

Roy stumbles out of bed, making his way down to his study. A drink will make him feel better. Just one drink, and then he’ll be able to sleep without dreaming, and wouldn’t that be nice?

Just one drink.

* * *

One drink becomes an entire bottle of bourbon, becomes Roy passed out on the floor in front of a cold fireplace because he can’t bring himself to light the fire nor could he stumble his way back up the stairs to his bed. Nor did he want to, not really. His bedroom was empty, lonely, just a room to sleep in. Just a room to dream in.

Here, in his study… Here are the books that he’d been meaning to lend to Edward. Here is the couch where his team had sprawled countless times, planning one careful stunt after another. Here is where the happy memories are, and here is where Roy would rather be. Here, Roy can pretend. When he’s really drunk, he can almost imagine that Edward is here, arguing with him. He can slump in his armchair and drink until he sleeps and he can pretend that there’s a world wherein Edward curls up at his side and calls him a bastard and debates alchemical facts with him while a blessedly human Alphonse relaxes on the couch with a cat or two, occasionally piping in with his own opinion.

_‘You’re a real piece of work, you know that?’_

Roy jumps, dislodging his bottle of bourbon, it’s contents spilling uselessly onto the carpet. He looks around, also uselessly because of course, he’s blind. Truth took his vision. He’ll never see again. But he doesn’t need his eyesight to recognize that voice because it’s Edward, it’s truly him, but where is he?

“Edward? Is that you? Where are you?”

Roy falls onto his knees trying to stand, his legs wobbling and weak from too much imbibement, hand reaching for the direction Edward’s voice originated in but there’s nothing, there is no one–

_‘Why are you doing this to yourself?’_

Roy laughs, a wretchedly bitter thing that chokes him, that has tears welling in his useless eyes. He curls onto his side on the cold floor, hugging his knees tight to his chest. “I am having a mental breakdown, only a few years late. This is my due. Perhaps I was a fool to think that I could redeem myself by saving Amestris. There is no equivalent exchange for a human life, let alone hundreds of human lives.”

_‘This is not a punishment for Ishval, bastard! Now quit trying to drink yourself to death, you have a job to do!’_

“I think I am owed a chance to break down, don’t you Edward? I deserve all the horrible things this world has to throw at me. This pain is my reward for– “

_‘God, you are a fuckin’ fool! Get up and get to bed before you catch pneumonia. Where the hell is your babysitter?’_

Roy laughs again, and then the acid is burning up the back of his throat and spewing out of his mouth. He chokes on it, gagging as he tries to roll over, heaving so hard his chest aches with the effort, but he hasn’t eaten in days, all that remains in his stomach is liquor and bile. He collapses onto his back when he feels that he’s finished, worn out and wrung thin.

He must be getting good at pretending because a hand sweeps his hair away from his face and Edward’s voice says, _‘Please don’t punish yourself like this, you don’t deserve this misery.’_

But Roy is fading out, falling asleep or passing out, either one. He can almost imagine that Edward is resting his head on his chest, calling him a million variations of stupid and cursing the reek of alcohol that clings to him.

He wakes up later in his bed and blames the whole occurrence on the copious amounts of bourbon that he forced on his body. He swears to himself that he won’t do it again, that he’ll get some food in his belly, that he’ll start taking care of himself.

He just needs one more drink to fortify himself first.

* * *

“No, Lieutenant, I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I do not need a babysitter,” Roy’s fingers clench around the telephone, and he’s thinking of the empty liquor bottles scattered around his townhouse, of the empty refrigerator and the dirty dishes in the sink. Of the laundry that hasn’t been washed because he can’t figure out how to clean them without the use of his eyes. He thinks of the judgment in their eyes when his closest, most-trusted friends enter his house and see just how poorly he’s doing.

How he very much cannot take care of himself.

How he’s hallucinating, how his desperation has dreamed Edward into haunting him and how he welcomes the insanity just to hear his voice, and how terrified he is to lose even that wisp of him. How he’s afraid that if he allows himself to venture from his home then people will see him for what he is: a fraud, a fake, an echo of who he used to be.

“Sir, a caretaker is not a babysitter. In this particular case, the caretaker is someone who will assist you in relearning how to do things in your day-to-day life without your eyesight,” Hawkeye explains and he can conjure up the exact expression she is sure to be wearing, exasperated but concerned, so very concerned. “I would be assisting you myself but you ordered me to take over your duties at the office.”

“Lieutenant, I am faring just fine on my own.”

“Yes, I can see that from your grocery order. Five bottles of bourbon and a loaf of bread. Surely, that is a very healthy diet. Sir– ”

“Riza, give me time,” Roy cuts her off. The use of her first name throws her off, as he’d meant for it to, and he continues, “I have lost more than my eyesight and I am attempting to come to terms with this knowledge. I just need some time.”

“Sir,” she says, softly. “Very well. A few more weeks and then I will stop by to check on you.”

He hangs up without answering her.

_‘You lie to your friends now too? You’re not even trying to cope. You’re just drowning your liver.’_

“Love, I am trying! This is me, trying to come to terms with the fact that life as I knew it is over! This is me, coming to terms with the fact that I will never see again! And what’s worse, I will never see you again! You and Alphonse are gone! You are just a figment of my imagination, born of too much alcohol and too many nightmares and a desperation that I am only just beginning to understand! If I could see, I’d be down on my knees drawing a human transmutation circle!”

Hands grab his shoulders, shaking him hard and he freezes mid-shout. _‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare! Don’t you ever! We’re not dead, you fuckin’ imbecile! We’re alive! Give me time, just give me time! Don’t you dare fuckin’ give up on me, you hear me?’_ Ghost Edward sobs, and Roy swears he could feel him slumping against him, so real that Roy raises his arms to wrap around him but there’s– he’s not _here. ‘Just give me some more time, I’ll figure something out, all right? Hang on, hang on for me, you have a promise to keep– '_

Roy sweeps everything from the hall desk, urged on by his fury, his agony. The phone and a myriad of papers hit the floor as he shouts, and Edward is gone again. He punches the wall, his fist breaking through the thin wood and he shouts with the pain, physical and mental, before slumping to the ground and giving in to the tears.

* * *

_‘Are you really fuckin' wallowing in this nightmare? Don't you have things to do, people to save, a fuckin' country to run?’_

"Hush, love, I'm sleeping," Roy mumbles, burrowing deeper into his blankets and dragging a pillow over his face. He can't see the sun but he can feel the warmth on his skin, and he's not ready to confront the day, not yet… maybe not ever. Not after… Maybe he won't ever leave this bed. Maybe he'll stay in this bed in the darkness forever, dreaming of what could have been. Maybe he is wallowing but he's allowed, after everything he's given to this godforsaken country, he is damn well allowed to wallow.

_‘Nah. You're not capable of wallowing, not for long. It's been what, three months? And you just wander these dusty halls like you're a damn ghost, already dead and buried. You lost your eyes, not your fuckin' spirit. Get up and move, damn you! Get up and keep fighting!’_

"That's not all I lost, though, is it darling?" Roy says, voice muffled beneath the mountains of soft blankets and pillows. His hands are curled tightly in the stiff fabric of a coat– how did this come to be in his possession? When last he saw it, it was hanging from Edward’s shoulders, whipping in the wind– and he doesn't need his vision to recall the vivid red but he dearly wishes he could see it. _See_ him. Oh, to lay hands on him...

_‘Oh boo-fuckin'-hoo, Colonel Bastard. It was a war. Everyone lost something. Someone. But are you really gonna make the world lose you too? You're supposed to help, you're supposed to change the world.’_

"I did. I left a desert soaked in blood and a city torn to shambles."

_‘Sometimes you gotta crack open a wound to get all the infection out. You broke it open but when the time came to clean it and patch everything up, you hid. You're still fuckin' hiding.’_

"I'm not hiding. I'm mourning."

The tears are heavy on his cheeks, lodging in his throat just as the pain tears at his heart. He rolls away from the window, away from the warmth, dragging the coat with him. It twists around him, too tight, strangling him but he doesn't complain, just readjusts the coat and buries his nose in with a sigh, ignoring the sound of a bottle falling from the bed and rolling across the floor. His tears soak into the cloth as he cries loudly, letting himself go, letting himself actually cry. His shoulders shake with the force of his grief, a burden that curls them in, has him hunching in on himself.

_‘Yeah well, I don't give you permission to mourn me. Get your shit together!’_

The blanket is yanked away from him, sending him sprawling to the floor. He sits up with a gasp, hand grasping for his bed frame to steady himself, anything to ground himself.

Is this conversation even real? Is he still dreaming? Is his mind compensating for all of the losses he's collected in an attempt to comfort him? Is he going crazy?

Tentatively, he swivels his head, listening for anything; a footfall too heavy to come from a flesh leg, the whisper of a long braid snapping in the air, a rant fueled by sleep-deprived irritation and riddled with profanities. Gods, what he’d give for his eyesight but he’s forced to rely on his other senses to fill in and report on his situational awareness. For several long moments, he sits there on his bedroom floor, wearing only pajama bottoms and holding onto that damned coat, listening for just a hint of another person lingering in his room, in his house but he’s greeted with silence and the sounds of the city, filtering in through the closed windows.

“Edward?” Roy whispers, hopeful and hesitant, his voice cracking with the ache of his longing. He drags his legs underneath him, rises shakily with the bed as a brace, and gathers the courage to ask, “Are you here Edward?”

There is no reply.

“I’m going fucking crazy!” Roy digs his fingers in his hair, curls the strands in his hands and yanks as he shouts, kicking the bed with an anguished bellow. Pain roars through his foot and he shouts again, curling over his bed as he sinks to his knees with a sob. “I’m going crazy,” he cries into the coat still clutched in his hand. Heat warms his shoulder, like a hand laying there comfortingly, but when he reaches up, there’s no one there.

Roy is alone.

* * *

Edward haunts him.

He haunts Roy’s dreams, he haunts his quiet moments caught between dreaming and waking, he haunts him when he’s had far too much to drink. Each word from Edward is torture because Roy knows he is losing his tenuous grip on sanity but he welcomes it for just the whisper of Edward’s ire. The time spent alone in his home helps even less; Roy finds himself drinking more and eating less, finds himself curled in his chair or in his bed, staring blindly at nothing with all of the lights in his house turned off. Why waste the electricity when they illuminate nothing for him anyway?

_‘I knew you were lazy but this is extreme, Colonel Bastard.’_

Roy can almost feel the indentations of his feet swinging up to rest on the arm of his chair. The glass of the bourbon bottle creaks under the tightening of his fist but it doesn’t break so he lifts it to his cracked lips for another swig. The fireplace is cold and empty, despite the chill rain that streams down the windows, despite the chill wind that snakes down the chimney. Roy burrows deeper into his robe and takes another drink.

He spends too long debating whether or not he should reply. The longing, burning tight and hot in his chest, makes the choice for him. “I’m no longer a colonel. I have been medically discharged.”

_‘Don’t worry, you’ll always be Colonel Bastard to me. Or maybe you’ll be Colonel Lazybones.’_

“This isn’t laziness, my dear. This is insanity,” Roy says, voice rasping from disuse. He doesn’t bother reaching out for Edward. There will be only air where his voice is coming from, only cold emptiness.

_‘You’re rank. A shower wouldn’t kill ya, would it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair so long or so greasy. C’mon, what kind of Führer do you expect to be if you can’t even take care of yourself?’_

“I’m not going to be Führer,” Roy tells the ghost and finishes off the bottle, letting the empty container thunk to the floor. His limbs are heavy, weighted down by the alcohol and the misery of his losses. “I could not keep two children safe. I could not keep my best friend safe,” the words slur over his thick tongue, muffled by his arm as he settles his face upon it. “How could I possibly hope to protect an entire country?”

_‘So what, you’re going to drink yourself to death instead?’_

“What other purpose is there for me withou– “

_‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare! Do not blame this on losing me! You’re giving up on me? You really think I’m not out there somewhere?’_

“Edward, I am tired of losing people I love. I am exhausted, sick to death of losing people.”

Silence follows, reigning heavy in Roy’s study, as he shakily exhales. The arm of his chair is empty; when he runs his fingers over it, there are no filthy boots propped up on it. No dirt remains on the soft surface. There is no evidence there was ever anyone here but him. This time when Roy cries, he makes no sound.

He trips over the empty bourbon bottle when he staggers to his feet but catches himself on the table that holds his lamp. He pulls on the string to turn the light on but he cannot see enough light to make a difference. Roy’s entire world is covered in shadows. Sometimes, when he’s drunk like this, he can almost forget that he no longer has his eyesight. Especially on the nights that he’s drunk enough for Edward’s spirit to haunt him.

Sometimes, he finds himself drinking so much just to hear Edward yell at him.

The phone shatters the silence, ringing loud and shrill against the pounding in Roy’s head, but he ignores it, stumbling into the kitchen instead. His hands fumble over the counter, counting each cabinet as he passes over them until he finds the one that holds the remnants of his liquor stash. There is a lone bottle collecting dust in the far corner and Roy sneezes when the dust flies up, dropping the bottle onto the counter where it shatters, just like the silence. Liquid erupts everywhere, coating him and the counter and dripping down onto the floor.

_‘Geez, bastard! I think that’s enough, don’t you?’_

“Fuck,” he curses, trying to avoid stepping on the shards that clatter to the floor, but he has no way of seeing the little slivers of glass and the bourbon has robbed him of his coordination. He slides down the counter, letting his head smack against one of the lower cabinet doors as he pools onto the floor. He’s too numb to feel the pinpricks where glass stabs his skin but for a moment, he’s back in that blasted desert, sand burning his skin.

The phone continues to ring.

Roy is far too exhausted to cross the house to answer it, or better, to smash it into insignificantly tiny pieces. He’s just so tired. Perhaps he can take a small nap and clean up this mess in the morning, or whenever he wakes. Time is rather unimportant these days, when he has no purpose, no drive, no method to see the evidence of time’s passing.

He falls asleep, right there, amid the broken glass and spilled bourbon.

* * *

_‘You’re the luckiest damn bastard ever, you know that right? Fuckin’ hell, Mustang,’_ Edward’s voice sounds strange. Distant. Faint. Tired.

“So says you,” Roy grunts, attempting to roll over. He’s prevented by something tugging at the crease of his elbow, tape peeling away from his skin and taking hair with it. Roy grimaces at the brief flash of pain and raises his hand to poke at whatever it is, feeling a familiar tubing connected to a needle that’s inserted into his arm. “Oh.”

_‘You nearly died,’_ Edward’s ghost informs him. Roy can almost see him pacing the floor of what must be a hospital room. _‘After all that fighting, all that clawing to survive, and you nearly killed yourself with alcohol. How fuckin’ dare you, you asshole! You almost left me!’_

Ah, so that explains the terrible taste clinging to his tongue, the sensation of cotton in his dry mouth. It explains the ache deep in his joints, the pain stinging at his legs and his hands and his head. He blinks, just to remind himself that he cannot see, and sighs, “What a pity. A near-death experience, yet I still cannot see your glorious hair nor your beautifully frowning face. I have been cheated, robbed. A travesty.”

_‘Have you considered that I’m not dead, you selfish fuckin’ moron?’_ Edward’s voice sounds even more distant now, tinny, as if coming through a phone line that crackles with static. _‘Did you even see what I had to do for you? How tired I am now?’_

“My love, I am quite literally blind,” Roy quips, struggling to sit up. He feels so weak, his bones akin to limp noodles. Everything aches save for his head, which pounds and throbs hard enough to make his belly turn and roll. He fights the acid back, forces it down into his stomach and orders it to remain there.

“Sir? Who are you speaking to?” Ah, Hawkeye. Had she been here the entire time, waiting at his bedside for him to wake up? He’s put her through so much trouble, dragged her through hell and back again, and yet here she is, saving him from himself.

_‘Someone too smart for you, that’s for damn sure. Stupid fucker. Tell her the truth, you idiot. Let her fuckin’ help you, if you don’t have the brain cells to even take care of yourself.’_

Roy sighs and falls back upon the pillows. The action hurts but he ignores it, too busy contemplating. He’s clearly awake, Hawkeye is speaking to him, and yet… Here is Edward’s ghost, holding a conversation with him as well. “A ghost, my dear savior. I am speaking to a ghost.”

“I appreciate the compliment, sir but I did not save you this time. Apparently, though you were suffering from acute alcohol poisoning, you managed to call for an ambulance. And sir, I must apologize for listening to you. For allowing this to continue for so long. If you hadn’t called for an ambulance...” she trails off, at a loss for words for the first time since he’s known her.

Roy remains silent. He certainly had _not_ been able to call for an ambulance. He hadn’t been able to move, he’d barely been able to think. He twists his head toward the direction from which Edward’s voice had originated, sitting straight up in the bed. “Impossible,” he breathes. He thinks of the many things he thought he’d imagined these past months; barely-there touches, being moved to his bed after passing out, having the blanket yanked away from him… An ethereal laugh taunts him but Edward says nothing else, neither to disprove Roy's words nor to refute them. “Surely I am still sleeping and this must all be some sort of dream."

"I can assure you, sir, you are quite awake, at long last,” he can hear the concern in Hawkeye’s voice but he’s torn. Does he reassure her or does he do as Edward says? “You’ve been out for nearly two days. We’ve all been quite concerned for you, as we have been for the past several months.”

_‘Do as I say for once, of course, you moron. Let her help! Let someone help, if you won’t fuckin’ listen to me! Don’t fuckin’ kill yourself like this, you have a promise to keep!’_

Roy can feel him, can feel his hand curling around his wrist. It’s less of a touch, more like the whisper of a breeze, trembling against him. Roy made two promises to Edward and while the second will forever remain a wishful dream, Roy can fulfill the first. Edward will never be able to repay his 520cenz but that wasn’t the important part, it was just the excuse. The importance was in the act and Roy can still deliver; he just cannot do it alone.

“Riza,” Roy says softly, tilting his head in her general direction. “My dear friend, I– I think I need help.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sheska is a blessing, Roy reminds himself for the perhaps millionth time. A blessing and useful addition to his team and he is not going to yell at her because she is such a blessing and she’s made the past two years go so much more smoothly, he lectures himself. Her writing and reading skills are on an otherworldly level and between her and Hawkeye, Roy barely ever gets behind on paperwork. It helps that all he has to do is listen to either of them read off the reports and then sign them, of course. Only, Sheska has a habit of rambling on about this thing or another and Roy has work to do. It’s far more difficult to concentrate without being able to focus on a visual.

Such as right now, Sheska is rambling on and on about… honestly, Roy is unsure what has the woman rambling but Roy himself is lost on a beach, with his toes wiggling in the bare sand as waves break upon the shoreline, washing over his feet as two brothers bicker good-naturedly somewhere behind him over the latest alchemical research paper to be released.

He can imagine their argument nearly word for word, can hear their voices reverberating within his mind, can nearly feel the cool ocean breeze on his skin. Roy is another world away entirely; somewhere where the Elric brothers are hale and whole, annoying him to the best of their abilities while the earth spins on calmly, peacefully.

The peace shatters as Hawkeye clears her throat pointedly, cruelly reeling him back into the real world. Back where an entire country rests upon his shoulders.

“Sir.”

Roy smiles towards Hawkeye, trying to act as if he wasn’t just daydreaming about a trip far away from any politicians, and with two people who have been classified as missing in action. “Yes, my dear Lieutenant?”

Sheska kicks him under the desk and dear god, she’s been spending too much time with Havoc and his other teammates. But also, she wouldn’t have done that so discreetly if Hawkeye was alone so Roy pastes on a more professional smile, the bland one specifically for fellow politicians and diplomats, and straightens in his chair, steepling his hands on the desktop before him as he waits for Hawkeye to introduce him to their guest.

“Sir, this is Silvanus. He is a representative from Artaxerxes, carrying an important missive from his majesty, the king.”

Roy hums at the introduction, intrigued. “Artaxerxes, you say? My, you’ve certainly come a long way from home. We were unaware of your visit and thus haven’t prepared lodgings for you but that can be quickly remedied, of course. We offer you all the hospitalities we can afford on such short notice.”

None of their spies have been able to enter the desert city of Artaxerxes nor have anyone from their allied countries. The city itself is a mystery; it appeared to have arisen from the desert sands overnight, some miles south of the ruins of Xerxes. Those few who have left the golden walls of Artaxerxes to visit the neighboring countries all claim that the city has always been there, that the city and its inhabitants have just kept inside the walls to protect themselves from the dangerous wars raging outside, that they have alchemical arrays that can render them invisible to foreign eyes.

“There is no need. I have already procured lodgings for my short stay. My only mission is to deliver this missive and return to my King with your reply.”

Presumably, there’s a bow. Roy cannot see it but there is always a bow accompanied with such articulately delivered words. Diplomats and their assistants tend to forget or are altogether unaware that Roy is blind, which can usually be spun in Roy’s favor. In this case, there can be no preventing the representative’s knowledge because Roy cannot read whatever is in this missive.

“I hope you do not mind that my assistant will have to read your missive to me, as I am blind,” Roy says calmly. He nods at Sheska who reaches for the letter, taking it from the man before returning to Roy’s side.

“We are already aware of your blindness. This is to be expected. I am sure that your assistant is as trustworthy as you have proven yourself to be,” Silvanus says, and the rustling of his clothes tells of another bow. “I will leave you to read through the missive and decide upon a reply. If it pleases you, I will return before sunset tomorrow.”

“Of course, thank you. Please, enjoy the wonders that Central City has to offer.”

“I will escort you to the exit, if you do not mind,” Hawkeye says and Silvanus murmurs an affirmative, allowing himself to be led out of Roy’s office.

As soon as he hears the office door close, he turns to Sheska, who’s already opened the letter and is skimming through it. “Well, Sheska. What does the king of the mysterious Artaxerxes have to say?”

“Um, well sir. A lot of flowery words that I’m sure would impress you but the most important is that he offers you friendship and peace and alchemy the likes of which we’ve never seen but only if you ummm…” she’s flailing wildly, the letter flapping as she trails off into incoherent babbling.

“Sheska?” Roy leans forward, gently pulling her out of her inner turmoil by tapping her on the shoulder, a reminder that he needs her to be his eyes, that he cannot read the letter himself.

"They want you to marry one of his oldest children to secure a peace treaty! How romantic! It's just like out of a romance novel, sir! If you agree, the ceremony will be held in a month's time, in Artaxerxes!" Sheska squeals, holding the letter close enough that he can't yank it away. "Oh," she adds, much more nervously. "Um. If you disagree, the king will see your refusal as a personal slight and all that that entails."

"Well, fuck," Roys says, falling back in his chair. He doesn’t need eyes to see that Sheska is mere moments from hyperventilating. “I suppose we had best call an emergency Parliament meeting. This will cause some tongues to wag, no doubt. And this letter is addressed to me, specifically? We are a democracy now. I’m little more than a figurehead, these days.”

“Oh, surely you jest, sir! Why, we’d still be in chaos if it weren’t for you! All those riots, and the protesting, and all the fighting, you settled all of that with a few pretty words!” Sheska exclaims in earnest, slamming her hands against his desk.

“It took far more than a few pretty words,” Roy demurs, bowing his head.

It took so much more than pretty words. Roy and his team had joined the fray, stepping in to diffuse many of those violent riots, using force when necessary. It had taken every single bit of strength and courage within himself to avoid sinking back into the bottom of a bottle. It had taken every memory of Edward’s high-pitched yelling in his ear to keep him going, urged on by Alphonse’s softer encouragement.

Only Riza knows that he continued to hear the voices of Edward and Alphonse Elric for nigh on six months after his hospitalization and rehabilitation. He knew that she would cast no judgment on him and she had not. She had only continued to support him with her quietly fierce brand of devotion, firmly guiding him back onto his former path, realigning his goals. She had told no one of how low he let himself sink; not his team nor her new confidant, who she still refuses to name to him, though she stumbles over her words whenever she mentions them.

Riza and his team are the only reason he sits where he does now; they have had his back from the very beginning and he can only repay them with his gratitude… that and a hefty raise.

“Oh, you know what I mean, sir! Anyone could have tamed the wilder beasts of this country but no one could do it with as few casualties as you and your team did! I know you can’t see the fruits of your labor but people are just so much happier and at peace with you at the head of this new government!”

“At ease, Sheska!” Roy laughs, delighted by her staunch defense of him, even from himself. “I appreciate your candor, as always. Perhaps more than you will ever know.”

She squeaks, devolving into another nearly incoherent ramble about how much she appreciates him hiring her and so on until the door creaks open and Hawkeye returns with another of those soft coughs. “Oh, Lieutenant! Welcome back!”

“Have you read the contents of the missive?” Hawkeye cuts right to the chase, blunt as always.

“Of course!”

“And?” Hawkeye urges but there’s only the sound of Sheska fidgeting nervously, twisting her fingers in the coat of her uniform. “Sir?”

Roy laughs shakily under the force of her stare, feeling the full focus of it on him. “Well, my dear Lieutenant, I know this will devastate you and break the hearts of Amestris’ most gloriously single beauties but it would appear as if I am to be married, at long last.”

“You what.”

“It’s a proposition for a treaty,” stammers Sheska, intervening on his behalf. “The king of Artaxerxes wants Amestris to seal a treaty with marriage!”

“Oh dear, you could have handled that with a bit more tact,” Roy says into the resulting silence.

“Oh, of course, sir! Pardon me. I’ll endeavor to add as many horrible puns and naughty jokes next time that I deliver life-altering news,” Sheska replies and truly, she’s spent far too much time with his men. She never would have sassed him so before meeting them.

“I’ll put out a call to Parliament,” Hawkeye says after she’s had time to let the news sink in. “Sir, would you like to– “

“No, Riza, I rather think I don’t want to talk about this. In fact, I would like to pretend this never happened but I doubt I’ll be able to fulfill that particular wish. But I made a promise to this country when I took those oaths and I have no intention of breaking them so early into my term.”

“Of course, sir. Bottle your emotions up until they drown you, again. That’s a perfectly acceptable alternative, isn’t it?”

“Umm, I think I’ll just… I’ll just go get the call out while the two of you talk?” Sheska beats a hasty retreat, the door slamming shut behind her, and Roy lets his head fall into his hands, worn out and so damn tired.

“Forgive me, Riza. It is difficult for me to... “ to think of a life bound to anyone save Edward. He had made the boy a promise, in the heat of battle, but a promise that he has always intended to keep and now…

“Roy, you don’t have to agree. You do not have to give all of yourself to Amestris. Surely there is nothing that Artaxerxes can do to force your hand in this,” Riza sits on his desk, draping a hand over his head.

Roy shudders at the touch, still so unused to such casual physical affection, but it does comfort him. “Read the letter. Apparently, a refusal would imply a personal slight and you know as well as I do that Amestris cannot bear another war. The country would collapse beneath another violent outburst, our peace is so very tenuous as it is. Whatever I can do to help maintain that peace… I always expected to give my life for Amestris, I just never expected it to be like this.”

“Sir, I know that you’ve been waiting for Edward– no, don’t interrupt me because we both know that I’m right. You should not have to forgo that hope, you should not have to give up the one hope you’ve allowed yourself to cling to. We can find another way,” Riza pats his head, ignoring the way he shakes it, silently disagreeing with her. She gives a heavy sigh, concerned. “Well, we will have the meeting with Parliament and then you can sleep on the matter. We don’t have to present Silvanus with an answer until tomorrow.”

“My dear Riza, surely you must know what they’ll decide. It is a scandalous way to form a treaty but the threat of war will terrify them. It terrifies _me_. I am exhausted from all of the violence. I would rather give up on my dream of one day marrying the love of my life than subject the world to another war. It will be as it will be.”

“This talk of giving up, this isn’t like you, sir!”

“I am not giving up!” Roy jerks away from her, pushing away from the desk and stumbling to his feet. “Riza, this is a battle of an entirely different design than we are used to, all pretty words and politics, but it is still a battle. And sometimes, to avoid a massacre, one must agree to terms of peace, a treaty. That is what this is. A bloodless way to divert a battle.” He paces the floor, hands combing through his hair, shaking loose the styled strands. “It is not ideal but it is acceptable and I think… I think Edward would understand.” The words hurt him to say but he knows them to be true.

“Of course he would,” the derision in her voice shocks Roy, has him turning to face her despite his inability to see her. He doesn’t need to see her of course, he knows her better than that. “Because both of you are would-be martyrs and you haven’t an ounce of self-worth or self-preservation between the two of you! Edward would agree with you but it would break his heart to do so, because the boy’s been in love with you since the first time he laid eyes on you, and everyone who’s ever seen you interact with him knows it!” Riza’s shout echoes around Roy, stunning him. “He would tell you anything to make you happy, just as you would him because you love each other and all you want is to make each other happy, only you let your responsibilities get in the way of that. And the fact that he isn’t here… you’re using that loneliness, that longing, to justify your drive to give away all of yourself to Amestris. Just imagine the look on his face when he does return, only to find that you’ve married another? Just. Don’t leap into this, sir. At least think about it before you give your future away.”

“Riza, I–”

“No, sir. No more justifications. You have a meeting to prepare for, we’d best get you to the Parliament Hall,” Riza brushes past him, leaving him to follow her, silently.

* * *

The meeting goes exactly as Roy expects it to: everyone is in an uproar, arguing loudly until they all agree. Roy must wed the child of the Artaxerxan king. Anything to prevent even the smallest kernel of dissonance within Amestris, anything to prevent even the whisper of a war. Roy can practically feel Hawkeye’s anger bubbling up, ready to boil over but she is professional to a fault. She stands at attention, silent and steady at his side while Parliament decides his future. And when the hall is empty of everyone but them, she moves; perhaps to apologize but he finds he cannot bear to hear the words.

“Lieutenant,” he says, firmly. “I find I am quite exhausted by today’s events. Would you order me a car?”

She sighs forlornly. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

Roy remains quiet the entire car ride home, tossing a soft “thank you” over his shoulder to the driver as he lets himself into his home. He doesn’t bother turning on the light but then, he doesn’t need it. His coat is flung expertly over the coat rack, his boots similarly discarded by the door, and he fills a glass with water from the tap before finding his way to his room.

He collapses over his made-up bed without bothering to disrobe or climb under the covers. The events of the day have left him drained and sleep feels like a miracle, an escape from the world. It feels as if he blinks once, twice, three times… and then he’s out like a light, off to dream in a world where he has everything he’s ever wanted: his vision, Edward, a quiet place far away from politicians.

_“It ain’t giving up, just saying,” Edward grunts as he plops down beside him, scooting in until Roy is forced to raise his arm for him to curl into his side with a happy sigh._

_“It certainly feels like it, my love.”_

_“Well, it ain’t. Don’t worry. Use your instincts. Does this feel like a bad thing to you?” Edward’s silky blonde hair catches on his stubble, making him grunt with distaste, but then he’s wiggling until he’s face to face with Roy, tangling his feet around Roy’s legs and yanking him into a hug._

_“No. No, it feels right? But it isn’t you and I so dearly wanted it to be,” Roy chokes on a sob, burying the sound against Edward’s face. “I want to spend my life with you, not some stranger! Why is it so wrong that I want to be happy, as well?”_

_Edward’s face scrunches into a frown and he holds Roy tightly, peppering his face with kisses, just like he knows Roy likes. “You deserve some damn happiness too, you bastard, and I’ll make sure you get it, okay? It may not be the way you expect but even you can be surprised sometimes. And this… I think this will be better than either of us could ever dream, okay? Just fuckin’ trust me, okay? You’ll be happy, more happy than you could have ever hoped for. You’ll be so fuckin’ happy you won’t be able to stand it.”_

_Roy doesn’t question him. Dream Edward has a way of answering him without actually answering him, as does Dream Alphonse when he appears, so Roy merely accepts their words and their hugs, sinking into the surreal comfort afforded to him by this dream world. Edward threads his fingers into the short strands of his hair and idly twists little braids into the locks as he hums a lullaby._

_Once he’d asked about it, about the lullaby, and Edward had given him a sad little smile and told him their mother used to sing it to them so after she died, he sang it to Alphonse to help him sleep and then, when Alphonse was only a soul bound to a suit of armor, Alphonse sang it to him. And now, Edward sings it to him._

_“I love you,” he whispers, caught between dream and reality. Edward’s cheeks pinken, the gold of his eyes darkening as he stares into Roy’s eyes. He smiles, shyly, and repeats, “I love you.”_

When Roy wakes up, alone and cold in his bed, the sun warm on his face, the blankets are pulled snugly up to his chin and Edward’s coat is clutched tightly in his hands, pillowed under his cheek.

* * *

Artaxerxes is similar to Amestris in that it is loud and bustling with crowds. They have to pass through the marketplace to reach the palace and people halt to cheer their progress, greeting them with yells and flowers tossed in their path as if its a grand parade. His men eat up the attention, winking at the crowd and answering their cheers. Roy hides his amusement and the soft cough from his side says that Hawkeye is hiding hers, as well.

She gives him a quiet description of their surroundings as they travel further into the city, and Artaxerxes is massive. It is a marvel that the city has escaped notice for so long, especially with the city being as prosperous and clean as Hawkeye describes.

“The people look to be healthy and happy,” she remarks, an observation that means the populace is well-cared for. “It says a lot that the city looks to be so happy and clean. It speaks of a kind and responsible nature from this king of theirs.”

“I agree. Wise is a man who ensures the populace is protected.”

“Ah, Silvanus is waiting upon the palace steps. Do you need assistance getting off of your horse, sir?”

“No, I can manage, thank you, Hawkeye.”

He disembarks smoothly, waiting for his team to join him on the ground. Hawkeye takes his arm, guiding him toward their greeting party. She leads him up a hundred steps where Silvanus greets them with a long speech that Roy pays careful attention to, logging every word into his memory.

“There is to be a welcoming ceremony in the Great Hall where you shall meet the King and his children. A great feast has been prepared for your arrival and will be served after you have a chance to go over the terms of the treaty with His Majesty.”

“I must admit,” Roy says, “I was not expecting the proceedings to move along quite so quickly.”

“Ah, of course, Führer. Among our people we have a belief that delaying the inevitable prolongs the anxiety,” Silvanus’ words are delivered with a kind softness and well, he isn’t wrong. “Our hope is to get the business transaction finished quickly, allowing for the happier ceremonies to commence.”

“Thank you, Silvanus, that does assuage my concerns,” Roy smiles in what he hopes is Silvanus’ direction and allows himself to be led into their Great Hall.

Silvanus announces them in a loud and clear voice before leading them to a table where the king and his children are seated. He hears Hawkeye gasp in surprise but she muffles the sound quickly, which is likely followed by one of their signals for their men to keep a stoic face in light of whatever Hawkeye has discovered.

“Welcome to Artaxerxes! Please, sit and dine with us while we discuss the terms of our treaty,” a grand voice speaks and Roy is led to a chair, Hawkeye taking the one to his right. “It is my greatest pleasure to introduce my oldest children, Edmund and Alard. They are not twins but they are close both in age and friendship and I could not bear to separate them. Therefore, in order for me to sign the treaty, it is my wish that you would wed them both.”

Roy is speechless.

Completely and utterly speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. Here is the consummation chapter. Prepare for self-doubt, a bit of self-loathing, and lots of threesome wedding sex!

Perhaps the only advantage of this arranged marriage is that Roy cannot see his new spouse, leaving a tiny and insignificant portion of his brain to pretend that it is Edward waiting for him upstairs in the room given to him by the king to deflower his child. Children. Because they are children. This king is forcing Roy to wed his children in order to seal this treaty. Such an archaic measure, one that wouldn’t even seem logical to most Amestrians as neither child is female and therefore cannot bear children to ensure the survival of Roy’s bloodline nor their own, but neither Amestris nor this Artaxerxes succeeded through a family line, so what do logistics matter? What does it matter that Roy is marrying not just one child but two to link their countries?

“Sir?” Hawkeye’s voice is close and Roy startles out of his inner panic, becoming aware of her firm grip on his elbow. He senses the intensity of his team staring at his back, feels their support though he cannot see it. “Sir, we can still discuss this with Parliament. No one would begrudge you for denying this portion of the treaty. Not when we all assumed from the letter that you would be marrying the king’s eldest child, and one who would be of age, at that.”

“Ah, I think the king would disagree with you, Lieutenant,” Roy presses his hand to his face, muffling his words. “Gods but _children_. And an array that can ensure the act is completed. What a formidable kingdom.”

“A terrible kingdom,” Havoc mutters and there’s a following grunt that signals that Fuery elbowed him. “What? That they’d force their own children into a marriage just to get Amestris to align with them just proves my point.”

“There could be ears everywhere, Havoc. Especially if they’re as skilled in alchemy as the rumors claim.”

“Exactly, so you should all shut up,” Hawkeye commands and they fall silent. “Sir, we don’t actually know their ages. Just that they are younger than we were led to believe. We do know that Amestris cannot handle another war so soon after the Promised Day. Another war will cripple our country. This is not an ideal situation and none of us like it but neither will we think any less of you for following through.”

There is it, the words he needs to hear. He throws his shoulders back with a sigh, allowing Hawkeye to straighten his uniform. “Well. You heard the rules, just as I did. You are to remain in these rooms until I… until the morning. I want you all packed and ready so we can leave as soon as the ceremony is finished, understand? I don’t want to remain in this kingdom one moment longer than necessary. I’ll order the princes’ things to be packed and brought down, as well.” Roy sighs again, stalling by the door, but Hawkeye shoves him gently.

Breda opens it for him, patting his back as he exits the room and leaves his team behind. A guard waits just outside the door and they grab his arm professionally, as they must have seen Hawkeye do in the welcoming ceremony earlier this week. He doesn’t make small talk as he’s led up several flights of stairs and down many halls simply because he’s too busy memorizing the route, just in case he needs to make a quick escape, but it’s a lost cause. There are too many turns, too many steps. This palace is sprawling, massive, too many rooms and twisting corridors.

“Here we are, Führer. The young princes await your presence inside these rooms. A meal will be brought to you in the morning but you are ordered to be undisturbed for the entirety of the night.”

“Thank you,” Roy says, and wonders if his words sound as feeble as he feels. His stomach is tight, unsettled, and he swallows against a surge of bile that burns his throat. “You are dismissed.”

“Actually,” the guard stumbles over their own words, and Roy realizes that they are just as uneasy as he is, “I am ordered by his majesty to remain at watch at the door to this corridor.”

Small mercies that they’re not ordered to remain outside the door to the bedroom, he supposes. He doesn’t think he could bear anyone else being privy to this sin. “Very well, then.”

They stand outside the door, neither moving. There are noises coming from within, soft and furtive, muffled by the heavy doors and Roy allows himself a moment to mourn his lost dreams, forever dashed upon the grounds.

Everything he’s ever done has been for his country and anything he’s ever wanted for himself has been stolen, much like this last desire has been. Regardless of whether Edward can find his way home from wherever he is– Roy refuses to believe he’s dead, though he no longer hears his voice. He’s _alive_ , somewhere, both of the Elrics must be alive– Roy will never be able to give him the one thing he promised him when last they shared the same space, staring at each other with chests heaving and lips bruised from a kiss born of years of tension and the adrenaline created from not knowing whether they’d emerge alive.

“We will live for ourselves,” he’d foolishly promised Edward, gazing into those molten gold irises. Edward’s hands had been fisted in the lapels of his coat, clinging to him. “When this is over, we will finally live for the things that we want and I want you,” he’d told him before kissing him again, swallowing his fervent agreement.

But Edward had never emerged. Neither had Alphonse. And Roy never stopped hoping but Amestris calls and Roy must answer.

So here he stands, marrying for the sake of his country. Artaxerxes will send alchemists with their strange arrays and help to rebuild Amestris, if only the Führer will wed the king’s sons, so here Roy stands, after years of searching for the Elrics and years of adjusting to a world of eternal darkness, years of exhausting work tearing down their government to reestablish a democracy, which is yet more years from being a stable, working government.

“Führer, they’re waiting for you,” the guard repeats and Roy sends them an attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Of course, of course. Just savoring my final moments of bachelorhood, you understand,” he says, trying for charming and falling miserably short. There’s a creak as the guard opens the door and Roy steps inside with a falsely confident, “Good evening.”

“Maybe for you,” someone snorts and the other prince shushes the first with a whispered, “Brother! There is no need to be rude.”

“Hello, your majesty,” the second prince says and there is a rustle, as if he’s bowing. There’s no movement from the first prince. “My name is Alard and this is my older brother Edmund.”

And Roy’s mind latches onto the similarities and he curses himself for the rising hope within his chest, tries to stamp it out. The hope is unreasonable and he blames it on his thoughts from only moments before. His brain is simply trying to create bridges where none exist, desperate for an explanation that is never coming. But that is not the fault of these boys, these princes, and they deserve every kindness the world has to offer, especially with what Roy must do to them.

“I am Roy Mustang, the Führer of Amestris,” Roy bows, bending at the waist and folding one arm over his stomach with the other held behind his back, a vision of elegance. Or so he’s been told.

“So it is true,” the first prince hums, and there’s a finger poking his cheek. Roy tries not to flinch away from the sudden touch. Complete blindness has made him rather twitchy at times, not that he’s ever truly done much in the way of casual physical affection, especially in the company of new acquaintances and without his entourage at his back. Edmund continues, “I couldn’t really see you at the welcoming ceremony, with that stupid heavy veil over my face. You are blind. There’s no scarring though, is it a birth defect? Nah, you’re too fidgety for that. You didn’t like that you couldn’t see me coming before I touched your face.”

“Brother, please!”

“Oh, what the fuck ever Al. He’s going to have us both naked in a few minutes, like there’s any need for civility.”

Gods, his _voice_. His _mannerisms_. What Roy wouldn’t give to be able to see this Edmund, to prove to his brain that there is no way this boy could possibly be… but they sound so very much _alike_. And the way they talk to each other, fuck.

“Apparently, he’s mute now too. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Edmund taunts and Roy wants to banter back, the instinct is strong but this isn’t his Edward, no matter how similar they sound. This is Edmund, his… his spouse, his child husband.

“Forgive me, you have me at a bit of a disadvantage. You’re in my blind spot, if you will,” Roy smiles, and there’s a giggle from Alard.

“Really?” Edmund scoffs and Alard says, “A man that can laugh at himself is both wise and well-adjusted.”

“Well, this man is going to be fucking us so,” Edmund says.

The room falls silent and Roy shifts, again unable to hide his unease. Once, he’d been able to don a politician’s mask and wear it for weeks at a time. Now, he cannot find it within himself to attempt to charm these two. They deserve better. If nothing else, they deserve honesty. His honest emotions. They’re going to be bound together in matrimony for the rest of his life, their lives, and any relationship they forge should be done with honesty.

“It is true that the intent is for us to be physically intimate and there is no use in skirting that fact. It should be noted that I am doing so only to seal the treaty between our countries but this is also something that I am uncomfortable with– “

“Then why are you fucking doing it?” Edmund hisses and there’s a crash as he flings something across the room, probably a glass pitcher from the sound of the shattering glass. “I’m thirteen! Al’s twelve!”

Roy flinches, unable to hide his horror, his self-disgust. Part of him wants to spin around, to open the door and run until he’s out of this horrible kingdom, until he’s free from this mess. But just like Ishval, just like the Promised Day, there is no running from this. He can only move forward. And he had known that his promised husbands were young, finding out their age changes nothing, not truly.

“Don’t be so mean, brother! He’s just as reluctant as you are, as I am, can’t you see it? We’re all doing what’s best for our countries. Sometimes, we have to do what’s best for our people, no matter what it means for us.”

Edmund sighs shakily, and Roy thinks he can hear them hug, can hear cloth rustling and shifting. He can hear footsteps crossing the empty space between them. “Al’s right, I guess. He usually fuckin’ is. Okay,” he sighs again, and then there’s a small hand slipping into Roy’s, and then Al takes his other hand. Together, they lead him towards the bed, where they stand, presumably staring down at it. “The king drew this array himself. It’s painted onto the mattress and sewn into the sheets. Guess they doubt all of us. Not surprising, you’re as twitchy as a wild rabbit.”

Al takes over explaining, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “Once we all climb onto the bed, it’ll activate. At that point, we’ll have until sunrise for everyone to reach completion. Only when all of us have done so will we be able to leave the bed without physical reprimandation. Upon mutual completion, the array will bind our souls to yours, theoretically forever.”

“They expect this to take until sunrise?” Roy finds himself saying, tongue sliding out to wet his dry lips. He’s trying for humor but his knees are wobbling, quaking against each other.

“Guess they think you’re too old to get it up,” Edmund quips and it’s so much like Edward that Roy swallows and closes his eyes and tries not to imagine that it’s Edward’s hand holding his own. “Geez, are you praying? That’s not going to help either, you know.”

“Brother,” Alard hisses and Roy chokes on a fond laugh because this must be a last _fuck you_ from Truth, it has to be. The very universe is taunting him with the two brothers who are so like the Elrics, and Roy must marry them, must have sex with them.

“See, the very idea is driving him insane, his poor old brain is too senile to keep up.”

Roy takes a very deep breath and then releases their hands, lets them fall to their sides, and then with shaking fingers, he begins to unfasten his uniform coat. He drops it to the floor and fumbles on to unbutton the white dress shirt beneath. Years of practice and muscle memory help but he still has issues with the smaller buttons at the top but then they’re loose as well, and his chest is bare.

There are twin inhalations, shocked gasps, and then fingers touch the massive burn scar on the left side of his torso, gently tracing the web of scar tissue. “What is this from?”

“A being called a homunculus stabbed me. I was forced to cauterize the wound so I could save my friend before I bled out.”

“Brave,” Alard breathes out, followed by Edmund’s, “More like stupid.”

“Are you ready to proceed?” Roy asks and there is silence, too much silence.

“Fuck, why are you so formal? Get on the fuckin’ bed, you lame bastard,” the bed springs creak in protest as Edmund jumps up on the mattress, followed by Alard climbing far more sedately onto the bed.

Roy breathes deeply, holds it, releases it. He stands suspended on a high wire, swaying in a thunderstorm; ahead of him lies chaotic unknown, behind lies wet and bloody sand. Roy wavers on a choice, surrounded by memories and haunted by ghosts. And then he inhales, slowly. He kicks off his boots and climbs up after them.

There’s a feeling of pressure in his bones, like he’s a dozen feet below sea level with the entire ocean pressing down on him, and then it releases, and the array is active. Fabric hits him in the face and Alard laughs nervously, and more fabric follows. The people from Artaxerxes wear robes, Roy remembers belatedly. Robes and naught else. His husbands are bare before him and Roy can see nothing.

“Fair’s fuckin’ fair, take your pants off, weirdo,” Edmund orders and Roy can hear it in his voice, the nerves causing him to waver so he fights his own down and obeys.

Roy has never been more grateful for his blindness. He cannot see his own scars, the mementos of wars past that litter his skin, memories of times he’d rather forget but that he cannot purge from his mind. But neither can he see what he assumes is disgust on the faces of Edmund and Alard, from having to look at him. With Edward, he wouldn’t have spared a single thought towards his appearance because he knew Edward and knew he wouldn’t have minded the scars, would have counted them as blessings that Roy was still alive, but he doesn’t know these two.

“I’m going first,” he hears Edmund whisper and then there’s the sound of flesh meeting, Alard punching Edmund’s shoulder, and then hands curl around Roy’s biceps hesitantly. “Al’s kind of nervous.”

Roy points out, “So are you,” but he lowers his head at Edmund’s insistent tugging, licking the dry surface of his own lips before tilting his head into the exhalation of Edmund’s shaky breathing, using the warmth to guide his nose along Edmund’s cheek, slowly searching for the press of Edmund’s mouth. He takes his time; this is likely the boy’s first kiss and Roy has yet to leave any of his lovers with a less than stellar experience and he isn't going to start now. His hands glide up the warmth of Edmund’s sides, fingers spreading to better explore the expanse of skin.

Edmund’s heart betrays him; the fragile muscle beats a frantic melody of nerves and anticipation and excitement. The frenetic pace spurs Roy along, encourages him to dance his fingers over the dips between Edmund’s ribs. He cups Edmund’s elbows and pushes gently upward, coaxing the boy to slide his hands up Roy’s biceps and over his shoulders, so that when Roy slides down the slim curve of his hips and pulls, Edmund hooks his arms together around Roy’s neck with a startled squeak.

Gods but his head doesn’t even reach Roy’s clavicles, not even standing on his knees, and Roy has to curl downward to finally meld their lips together. Edmund sighs into his mouth, all at once relieved and on edge, brimming with energy, and Roy echoes him, sighing with pleasure as his senses delight in the nearness of the boy. His hair and body have been scented with something sweet and sharp, perhaps jasmine and bergamot, and the aroma invades his nostrils, and he finds himself wanting more. He leaves Edmund’s mouth with a wet smack, drags his lips over the curve of his cheek until he can nibble just beneath Edmund’s ear, inhaling deeply of that scent.

“You smell divine,” he murmurs into his ear and Edmund shivers, inadvertently pressing closer to Roy. There’s movement behind Edmund and then there’s a burst of that divine smell as Alard frees Edmund’s hair, allowing it waterfall around them. “Oh, that’s beautiful,” Roy praises, parting the stream of hair so that he can curl the strands around his fist and tug gently. Edmund’s neck curves easily and Roy explores the smooth slope with his mouth open, all the better to drag his tongue along the expanse, and he can feel the heat as Edmund’s skin erupts into what is sure to be a beautiful blush.

Alard’s arms wrap around Edmund’s waist, supporting him fully as his brother sags back into him, holding him still so that Roy can continue his exploration uninterrupted. His uneven breaths gust over Roy’s forehead, bringing attention to the sweat beading upon the skin there, causing his hair to stick and cling, but also Roy feels the tremble of Edmund’s body intensify as his brother supports him. Ah. Well, that certainly doesn’t hurt matters at all, does it?

Roy shifts forward, knees forcing Edmund’s legs to widen but also causing Alard to lose his balance, and they all fall backward onto the pillows; Edmund lands between Alard’s spread legs and Roy only knows this because his hand finds purchase on Alard’s knee while Edmund’s legs splay wide over the tops of Roy’s thighs. Gods but if only he could see! He settles for trailing his free hand over Edmund’s sharp hip bones, delighting in the eruption of goosebumps following in the wake of his touch. His skin is so soft under Roy’s calloused palm, he loses himself in the pleasure of tracing his fingers over Edmund’s sides, of trailing his mouth back toward Edmund’s mouth.

“What– what are you _doing_ ,” rasps Edmund, back arching as he chokes down another tiny moan. Roy avoids touching his lower half, all the better to prolong his pleasure. “What the fuck even is this– “

“This is called foreplay, my dear. One cannot rush sex, certainly not if it’s to be enjoyed by all involved members– ” he licks a stripe along Edmund’s collarbone then blows over the moist skin, savoring the panting that causes Edmund’s chest to heave, but he rises on his knees over Edmund in one smooth movement, artfully arranging Edmund’s pliant body in a wanton sprawl over the frame of his brother, who gasps and clutches his arms tighter around Edmund’s waist. “And especially not between men. There is the matter of preparation, of course,” he scoots down, rolling the length of his body over Edmund so the boy can feel all of him, and then bows his head over Edmund’s chest, lathing at the stiff peak of one of his nipples.

Edmund jerks with a strangled squeak, startled by the moist warmth encasing his nipple, but quickly relaxes into the sensation, enough that he allows his hands to tangle into Roy’s hair, holding him firmly in place as he moans out a gravely, “Fuck, oh fuck– “

Roy leaves it puffy and swollen to devote a similar attention to his other nipple, eager to coax forth more of those moaned curses. Edmund gasps in surprise, hips rolling up to grind against Roy, and Roy releases his hair so he can cover Alard’s hand where the younger boy is rolling Edmund’s puffy nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Roy smiles around the flesh still caught in his mouth, releasing a pleased hum that has Edmund moaning again as the vibrations roll though his abused skin. His fingers yank painfully at the roots of Roy’s hair but he takes pride in the desperation revealed by the flexing of his hands.

“Oh, oh fuck! Get on with it!” Edmund orders but Roy pinches his side playfully, ignoring his demand.

“Be nice, brother! The Führer is being so nice, he could just take you but he’s making sure you’ll enjoy this too,” Alard chastises and hearing him call Edmund brother, hearing him call Roy Führer… Roy’s hips buck of their own volition, grinding his aching erection against Edmund’s leg. “See, he’s even holding back just to give you pleasure,” Alard cooes, and Roy hears the slide of his hand smoothing over Edmund’s hair, as if to soothe him.

Edmund whimpers, “Fuck you, Al, shut the fuck up.” His body downright quakes, trapped between his brother and his husband, and Roy decides to have mercy on him.

He crawls backward, hands on Edmund’s thighs, stretching them open just wide enough that he can settle between them. He focuses on the smell of jasmine and bergamot and beneath them, the salty musk that comes from the precum weeping out of the tip of Edmund’s erection. Roy swipes a finger across Edmund’s quivering abdomen, gliding through the mess pooled there, and pops his finger into his own mouth, just to get a taste.

“Oh my fuckin’ gods be damned,” Edmund grunts as his cock bobs and his stomach tenses. “You’re like a fuckin’–”

“Sex god,” Alard supplies, voice hoarse. His hands travel down, joining Roy’s to hold Edmund’s legs in place. He wiggles under his brother, getting more comfortable perhaps? No, a moan from Edmund hints that Alard’s own erection is now grinding against the plump muscles of Edmund’s rear. Should a twelve year be so knowledgeable in sexual acts? Edmund is as virginal and pliant as Roy expected but Alard seems eager to assist Roy in debauching his brother.

“How am I supposed to resist tasting you when you smell so delicious?” Roy muses, sucking every drop of fluid from his finger. Edmund whines and Alard laughs, though he does sound a bit unhinged, desperate.

“Then, by all means, indulge,” Alard says.

“Indulge? Fuckin’ indulge on wh– “ Edmund’s voice cracks as Roy licks a warm stripe up the underside of his cock, then swirls his tongue around the leaking tip. “Fuck! Fuckin’ fuckity fuck!”

Alard laughs but Roy is too busy sinking down to the root of Edmund’s cock. It’s proportional to his height and age range, filling Roy’s mouth with some room to spare, and all it takes is that smooth, downward glide for Edmund’s body to stiffen, for his cock to spurt hot seed down the back of Roy’s throat.

“Shit, shit, fuck,” Edmund wails as his hips jerk in tiny aborted thrusts, and Roy holds his position, lips touching the bare base of his cock, as his slim body falls lax on top of his brother. Carefully, he swallows and, overstimulated, Edmund wheezes, rocking into his mouth as his cock valiantly expels a few more strands of cum. “Bastard, you’re a fuckin’ bastard, oh shit, that feels so fuckin’ good,” he babbles. He’s still hard.

Roy releases him despite his protests, wiping his mouth to catch the bit of fluid that dribbles out. His chest is heaving; Edmund’s noises have him so hard it hurts and he wants so badly to be inside him but he’s still not ready. Alard is moving, sliding out from under his brother and presumably crawling over him to straddle his waist so that he can throw himself at Roy, catching him in a desperate and clumsy kiss. Edmund whines out as Alard squishes the air from his lungs but Alard ignores him in favor of licking his release from the backs of Roy’s teeth.

“He does taste good,” Alard says when he pulls back, leaving Roy’s lips wet and dripping saliva. Roy catches him before he can pull too far away, loops an arm around his back and cradles the back of his head as he brings him in for another kiss, more sensual than fervent, and Alard relaxes into him, moaning, “You taste good, too.”

Roy loses himself to the kiss, letting his hands roam over Alard’s slender form as he traces the inside of his mouth, mapping out the terrain and memorizing every single inch of him. Alard is less whines and breathy moans and more groaning demands, begging Roy to touch him so Roy does. He snakes his hand between them and trails his fingers down the length of his arousal, smearing his own precum over his cock to ease the glide when he wraps his fingers around Alard.

Edmund whines beneath Alard, left out but not entirely forgotten. Roy hooks Edmund’s knees over his elbows and lifts him so that his hips are cradled firmly against Roy’s, with Roy’s cock nestled between his cheeks. The movement throws Alard closer to Roy and he grabs his brother’s knees to steady himself, causing Edmund to keen out as his sensitive cock is ground beneath Alard’s shifting body.

“Careful Al!” Edmund smacks Alard’s back, and Alard grinds down with purpose, teasingly. “Fuck you, jerk! That’s too– ah! Stop, it’s too much!”

“I wonder,” Roy muses aloud, lips still touching Alard’s. “Could you come like this, Edmund? With Alard grinding against you?”

Alard pouts and Roy can feel it, mouths pressed together as they are, and says, “But I haven’t got to get off yet, that’s not fair! Brother already got to once!”

Briefly, Roy sees his future; his body wrung out dry between these two insatiable beasts, every night devoted to pleasing them. It’s not an unhappy future, it just lacks the person he wants most.

“You are right, we should rectify that slight, darling. Get on your knees,” Roy says and Alard hurries to obey, settling on his hands and knees over Edmund. “No, lower. Straddle your brother.” Again, Alard obeys, dropping carefully until he’s stretched over him, chest to chest, groin to groin. Roy checks by skimming his hands over their sides, humming his satisfaction as he feels Edmund’s body rocking up to meet Alard’s. Their cocks must be squished together, trapped between their bellies, and that’s precisely what Roy wants. “Were you left with any items for tonight?”

“There’s a tray on the nightstand,” Alard says, and he moves to reach for the tray, making his brother whine and roll his hips into the pressure. “It looks like there’s um… there’s a pot of oil and some rope? There’s a bottle that says… oh, ahaha. It’s an aphrodisiac?”

“Too fuckin’ late for that,” Edmund says. His breathing is ragged, his voice shredded, and they’ve barely even begun. “That bottle says stamina, looks like it’s for the ol’ man.”

“I’m not as old as you apparently think I am, little one. Give me the oil.”

“What– what for?” Edmund protests but Alard is already putting the pot in Roy’s outstretched hand.

“Why, it’s so that I can prepare you, little one. I’m going to pour this oil onto my fingers and then I’m going to inser– “

“Whoa, okay less talking!” Edmund squirms; although whether it’s in excitement or with nerves, Roy cannot even hope to guess.

“How is that your younger brother is so much more knowledgeable in the ways of sex, Edmund?” Roy hums as he trails a slick finger over Edmund’s thigh, smiling when the muscles tense up.

“Al reads those fuckin’ romance novels and shit, I never thought I’d need to know any of that dumb shit.”

“True. I am more than happy to teach you everything you’ll need to know when it comes to the naughtier side of life. But first, I’m going to reward your little brother for his patience, so you’ll have to wait your turn.” Roy bends and feels for Alard, letting the difference in noises guide him to the younger of his husbands. Alard’s skin is hot beneath his hands, slightly more plump than his brother; he’s bigger in general, taller despite the age difference, which probably infuriates Edw– _Edmund_. He kneads the flesh of Alard’s cheeks, spreads them so he can gently bite right beside Alard’s hole and the boy yelps, jumping just a bit.

“What is– “

“Have I found something you don’t know about, darling? You may call this ‘rimming’ or ‘eating out’, there are other names too, of course,” Roy says casually, at odds with the nips and bites he leaves on Alard’s skin. He waits until Alard relaxes again before he licks along the furl of his hole, smirking when Alard rocks back into his mouth, making a surprised sort of squeal. Roy takes that as an invitation to drive his tongue inside him, burying his face into Alard as he slides his hands around, curling them around his thighs to hold him in place.

“Yes, yes, yes! Again, please! Please do that again!” Alard begs, rocking back and forth as if undecided whether the friction of humping Edmund is better than the wet heat of Roy’s tongue fucking into him.

“Fuck, Al, you’re fuckin’ drooling!”

“Feels good, feels so good,” Alard’s voice sounds muffled, as if his face is buried against Edmund, which it probably is.

“You look– “ Edmund trails off, then Roy’s ears are filled with the sounds of a sloppy kiss, wet and desperate and so inexperienced and so very arousing.

Both brothers are distracted by the passion, overwhelmed by the rush of endorphins and adrenaline so when Roy slips a slick fingertip into Edmund’s hole, the boy barely even notices. He’s so warm around his finger, so tight, that Roy can barely wait to be inside him but driving them to pleasure-induced insanity is just as enjoyable. His own erection is easily ignored, especially when Edmund and Alard are moaning into each other’s mouths, humping against each other, their cocks gliding through the mess of sweat and precum collecting on Edmund’s stomach, when he’s tongue-deep in Alard and twisting a second finger into Edmund.

Alard’s orgasm blind-sides him, there’s no warning; one second he’s rutting frantically against his brother and arching his back to get closer to Roy, and then he’s gasping, choking on a drawn out moan and Edmund’s hands are mere centimetres from Roy’s face as he clutches at Alard’s backside, holding him close as Alard shudders.

Roy slides another finger into Edmund, twisting them in deep before spreading them, grinning into Alard’s skin as Edmund whines and grinds on his fingers. Roy rests his cheek on Alard’s lower back as he rotates his wrist, searching for– there, that! Edmund shrieks and jerks up, clamping down around Roy’s fingers as he grazes his prostate.

“Fuck! Fuck, oh my fuckin’ shit,” he wails out, the motion of his hips stuttering, one hand slapping back onto Roy’s head now that it’s back in reach, twisting his fingers back into his hair. “More, fuckin’ again!”

“My but you’re such a bossy little thing. And your brother asked so nicely, perhaps he inherited all of the manners?”

“Fuck you, bastard!” Edmund grits, yanking at his hair. Roy eases his fingers out and Edmund curses, trying to force him back by shoving at his head, “No, put them back! Now!”

Roy calmly detaches Edmund’s trembling fingers from his hair and straightens, patting Alard’s backside gently. “You’re being greedy, little one. This next bit is going to be for me but I’ll make sure it’s pleasant for you, as well,” Roy says and he dips his fingers into the pot of oil, exaggerating his movements so that the boys can hear him slicking himself up. “This isn’t for you, Edmund. You’re far too rude. So, you’re going to help your brother while I help myself, understand?”

He grabs Edmund’s hand and spreads the oil over his fingers too, ignoring Edmund’s ragged breathing as Roy guides one finger to Alard’s spit-slick hole. “Start with one finger or else you’ll risk hurting him, and we don’t want that. Slow and easy does it,” Roy instructs and presses the finger inside Alard, listening to the gasping and pants, trying to detangle the sounds and pinpoint which boy is making what sounds but there’s too much to focus on.

Without his eyesight, he cannot distract himself with the spread of hair on a white pillow, nor the vision of a heaving chest, nor the flush staining cheeks and necks. He drowns in sounds and smells and sensations; such as the way that his cockhead catches on the rim of Edmund’s hole, straining to push inside. He feels the tension tightening Edmund’s thighs, the shaking of Alard’s knees, as Edmund fucks his brother with a single finger. The pop as he breaches Edmund’s hole and begins the rolling of his hips to impale him, the slick squelching of the oil easing his way inside.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, it burns, it burns,” Edwa– _Edmund_ cries out and Roy pauses, caressing the skin that he can reach, his inner thighs, his hips, his sides. “You’re too fuckin’ big, it’s too much, it’s not gonna fit– “

“It will, it will, little one, just relax for me,” Roy whispers, pulling one of Edmund’s knees close so he can mouth along it, rubbing soothingly at his hip.

Alard lays messy kisses on his brother’s chest, sucking bruises along his neck, and together they coax him back to relaxation, so that Roy can finish the arduous task of fitting inside Edmund’s much smaller body. When at last he’s nestled fully against Edmund’s groin, buried completely inside him, his balls brushing against Edmund, Roy pauses to force himself to slow down. He’s so beyond ready for his own release but he will not let either of his husband’s first time be anything less than perfect, so he waits.

When Edmund gives a tentative roll of his own hips, grinding his erection against Alard’s stomach and allowing Roy to slide somehow deeper inside, Roy responds in kind, gently tugging free only to slowly rock back in, punching the air from Edmund’s lungs, setting a torturously slow pace ensured to drive them all crazy.

“Brother,” Alard whines, all drawn out and breathy, wiggling his hips to remind Edmund of his other instructions, and the slick sounds of Edmund finger-fucking his brother resume. “Another finger, please big brother! Please!”

“Roy?” Edmund asks and Roy grunts an affirmative, and Edmund adds another finger, mimicking Roy’s earlier movements to make Alph– _Alard_ feel just as good as Roy had made him feel. “Oh fuck, Roy, faster, faster, I can take it,” he begs and Roy entertains the thought of listening, just for a heartbeat.

He slows down, grabbing Edmund’s hips to tilt them, allowing Roy to hit the perfect angle on a deep thrust that has Edmund tensing around him, his body warning Roy that he’s close. But Roy doesn’t want him to come just yet, he has a plan, so he joins Edmund in preparing Alard, sliding one long finger in alongside Edmund’s smaller ones, matching the pace of his thrusts to the pace of his finger fucking into Alard. Slow, so slow.

“What do you think, darling? Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, please, sir! I’m ready!” Alard begs so prettily, rasping and panting, just how Roy likes.

“That’s it, darling, good boy,” Roy presses a kiss to his lower back, and tugs free from both Alard and Edmund, who immediately protests. “Shh, shh, little one. It’s just for a moment.”

Roy leans forward to hook an arm around Alard’s chest, pulling him upright. Edmund’s fingers slip free from his hole but Roy slips a hand between them, patting until he can grip Edmund firmly and guide him to nudge at Alard’s rim. “You’ll feel a bit of pressure but once you adjust, this will feel wonderful for both of you. All you have to do is sink down slowly,” Roy whispers into Alard’s ear, and Alard nods frantically as Roy says, “Brace your hands upon Edmund’s chest, there we go, that’s a good boy. Stay relaxed now, I’ll help you,” and he does, he guides Alard down until with a gusty sigh, he settles firmly upon his brother’s cock. “There now, how does that feel?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Al, you’re so damn tight,” Edmund moans and his fingers are digging into his brother’s waist, so tightly that Roy knows without having to see that bruises are blooming upon his skin. Somehow, he refrains from moving, again mimicking Roy’s teachings. “When– when can I move?”

“Wait just a moment more, little one,” Roy murmurs, kissing along Alard’s neck as he grips himself by the base of his cock and thrusts back within Edmund, who cannot stop himself from meeting him with a swivel of his hips. Alard moans, head tossed back against Roy’s chest, and he grinds down on Edmund causing him to tighten around Roy. “That’s it, there we go. Alard, if I should tell you to ride him, would you understand what I mean?”

“Oh, gods, yes,” and Alard fucking does, despite the burning he must be feeling. He rises up, pushing off of Edmund’s chest, and then lowers himself with a shaky little whine.

They become a concert in motion; Roy thrusts into Edmund as Alard slowly sinks down upon him, and Edmund can only hold on for dear life. He has both hands clutching Roy’s thighs but with Alard pushing down on his chest and with his own legs spread wide over Roy’s, he cannot move. He has to take whatever they’re willing to give him. His bratty attitude is gone; he babbles incoherently, wailing and shouting until his voice shatters and he can only pant raggedly.

“Roy, Roy, I’m– I’m going to–” Alpho– _Alard_ whimpers, movements gone jerky, not even bouncing in his brother’s lap anymore so much as grinding with wild abandon, and Roy drops one hand to stroke him to completion, milking him dry, until every drop of his release coats his brother’s stomach and chest.

The tightening of his body around Edmund must drive him to release as well because he chokes on a shriek, his inner walls pulsating around Roy, who can no longer contain himself. Roy shoves at Alard until he falls limp over Edmund’s chest and then he grabs Edmund’s hips and drives in deep, pistoning into his insanely tight, fluttering walls until Edmund is screaming and trying to pull away from the pain of the overstimulation. Edmund is completely dissolved into sobbing pleas, torn between, “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” and “Please, it’s too much! Too much!” so Roy pulls free of him, leaving him absolutely quaking in the aftershocks of too much pleasure, only to rise up, just a bit, and thrust into Alard’s sloppy, cum-soaked hole.

Alard screams, clenching around his much wider girth and Roy becomes aware of his own sounds, rough-hewn groans and snarls, like a wild beast as he collapses over Alard’s back, palms planted on either side of the boys. Sweat beads along his hairline, rolling down his face to drip onto Alard’s back, as he jerks his hips hard, deep enough to scoot Alard up Edmund’s chest, yanking out more of those delicious whimpers. Dimly, Roy notices that Alard is coated in that same perfume of jasmine and bergamot, but now both of them are covered in sweat and each other’s spent seed and Roy wants them coated in his own; something deep within him needs it, wants to see it but he can’t so he’ll have to settle for the scent, for the borderline-disgusting feel of the fluid drying on his skin.

“Almost, I’m almost– “ Roy snarls, snapping his hips forward. His thrusts are too powerful, he has to grab Alard’s hips and hold him firmly in place as he chases his orgasm within Alard’s tight hole. He comes with a bellow, pulling out in time to absolutely drench Alard’s hole with his spend, body jerking as he reaches down and milks himself through the orgasm. He can tell by Edmund’s disgruntled moan that the fluid is trickling down onto him and he huffs a hoarse laugh before collapsing onto the bed beside them.

The instant that Alard rolls off of Edmund, wiggling until he’s firmly squeezed between them both and also allowing their mixed fluids to drop onto the bed, that same pressure from earlier overtakes Roy, making his ears pop. It’s strong enough that for an instant, he’s certain he’ll black out but then it passes and Edmund is crying, one hand stretching over Alard to clutch at him until Roy threads their fingers together, gently kissing his knuckles. Alard must wrap an arm around him, hauling him in close, because then Edw– _Edmund_ is half on top of them both, sobbing hard enough to make Roy’s body shake.

“Hush, love, all is well,” Roy soothes, pressing kisses into his hair, carding his fingers through the sweat-damp strands. He’s weary, far too tired from a round of lovemaking. He’s exhausted to his core, unable to move much. Maybe completing the array took some of their energy? It certainly freed him of all his worries, his concerns about their marriage.

“Roy, Roy, Roy,” he cries into Roy’s clavicle, and Roy has the distinct impression that something monumental has occurred completely without his knowledge but Edward is inconsolable and Alphonse is softly humming, attempting to soothe him despite the ferocity of his tears. Roy can only curl into them, giving them the nearness of his body heat and the reassurance of his voice, hoping that it’s enough.

Hoping that he is enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Roy is sticky and sore all over and he doesn’t want to wake from the dream he’s having but someone is crying; that soft, snuffling sort of cry where they’re trying not to make noise and failing miserably, and the sound tugs painfully at Roy’s heart.

“Mmm, s’okay,” Roy mumbles, pressing a kiss to the sweaty forehead nudging at his chin. He’s still lost in the haze of that sweet dream, barely conscious but aware enough to know that the person in his arms is still crying silent tears onto his bare skin. He searches for the blanket, tugging it up over them, and then curls around his partner.

“You– you called me–”

Ah, it’s Edmund. And with his dream still hanging heavy in his mind, he knows exactly what he must have called him. He kisses his forehead again, holds him a little tighter. “I must apologize, little one. Edmund. I was dreaming of– “

“Someone else,” Edmund interrupts him.

“Yes, I was dreaming of someone else. You see, I– Well, there was someone else. I gave my heart to someone else but I lost him,” it hurts to say it out loud, it tears at his heart to admit it but Edmund only hugs him tighter. “We’re still looking for him but then the letter came and I suppose I had no other choice but to agree to your king’s terms. And I imagine… No, I know that Edward would understand. Amestris must come first.”

“You really love your country that much? You’d marry me and Al, despite everything, to save your country?” Edmund is sniffling but he seems calmer, relaxing into Roy’s hug. Roy cards a hand through Edmund’s hair, twisting the locks around his fingers and humming, hoping to ease his tension completely.

“Yes. I have caused my country enough harm obeying the orders of others, now I am trying to set everything to rights. Restore Amestris to prosperity, and all of her people as well.”

“That’s a lot of work, especially alone.”

“Oh, I’m far from alone. I have my team, I trust them all. I have Edward and Alphonse, wherever they may be. I have the support of my country, though I’m trying to restore Amestris to a democracy. Hopefully, you and your brother will join me in attempting to restore balance to the world,” Roy’s words are thick with sleep and he yawns as his fingers continue to comb through Edmund’s hair, which seems to pull Edmund closer to relaxation. He shifts until he’s sprawled over Roy’s chest and Alard immediately curls into the warm spot he leaves behind.

“Yeah, I think we will. I think you deserve all the good things in life,” Edmund says, and his hand is trailing symbols over Roy’s skin, swirling over his abdomen and lower until Roy lifts his hips with a soft moan as Edmund tangles his fingers around Roy’s hardening erection. His much-smaller hand strokes him until he’s stiff and aching. “Like this, for instance,” he says as he crawls over him, still dripping oil and cum from earlier which eases the way for Roy’s cock to split him open.

He’s clumsy but eager and Roy will gladly teach him the finer nuances of love-making by indulging him as many times as he’s able. His hands spread over Edmund’s ribs, gentle and light as he urges him to bounce on his cock. Edmund’s hair is long enough that it brushes the tops of Roy’s thighs and he wants to wrap his fist in the tangled strands, force his back into a bow so Roy can thrust up at that perfect angle to make him scream but that isn’t the right mood for this.

This calls for a more sensual touch.

Roy surprises Edmund by sitting up, causing his arms to wrap around Roy’s neck as he squirms on his cock. “What,” he breathes but Roy is banding an arm around his back to cradle the base of Edmund’s head in the palm of his hand.

“Put your legs behind my back,” he orders and Edmund obeys, letting Roy hold him in place as his legs fall open around Roy. “Good. Now put one hand on my leg, yes like that,” he groans as Edmund stretches one arm behind himself, balancing on Roy’s leg while digging his fingers into Roy’s skin, clutching at his back and his thigh.

“Oh, fuck that feels– “ his head tilts back, leaning into Roy’s hand. Edmund can only grind against Roy but Roy is seated deeply inside him, grazing his prostate with every minute rock of his hips. “God, you’re so fuckin’ deep,” he gasps.

“That’s right, love,” Roy murmurs into his neck. He presses his tongue flat to Edmund’s skin and licks up to his ear, nibbling on his ear lobe. He spreads his fingers flat to the bed, bracing himself as he undulates his body, driving up into Edmund achingly slow and deep. “Feel me, I want you to feel every inch of me,” he growls, and Edmund’s fingers claw at his back, digging into the muscles of his shoulder.

Edmund rolls his neck and Roy keeps his hand cupping his head, though he tightens his fingers in his hair as Edmund returns unskilled kisses to Roy’s chest, panting against his skin. Already, his thrusts are growing rocky, desperate, frantic as he fucks himself onto Roy, rutting his cock against Roy’s abdomen. Burning lines down his back tell Roy that Edmund has drawn blood but that just spurs him on, just like Edmund’s smothered, “Yes, yes, yes, fuckin’ yes!” until he bites down on Roy’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise, to break the skin.

Edmund spills between them, his moans and whines muffled with Roy’s flesh between his teeth. He’s shaking, tensing around Roy; his arms and legs, his inner walls, everything clenches around Roy until he comes, as well. His thighs are burning and his arm is cramping and he collapses back onto the bed with Edmund still clinging to him, gasping and panting against his chest.

“Do you have any idea how utterly pornographic the two of you are?” Alard whispers from somewhere beside them, and there’s the sound of his fist moving fast over his own cock so Roy reaches for him, tugging until Alard hovers over them, balancing on his knees so that Roy can turn without dislodging the already-snoring Edmund from his chest and take Alard into his mouth. Alard lets out a soft whimper, the sound strangled by his teeth tearing at his lower lip, and his hips buck forward, not quite enough to choke Roy but enough to make his eyes water. Alard spills fast, hot and salty down Roy’s throat, and then slumps down with another soft sound, snuggling into the arm that Roy holds out for him.

“I didn’t hear everything,” Alard whispers, long enough later that Roy honestly thought he had drifted back to sleep, like Edmund. “But are you okay? This is a lot to ask of you, a lot more than either of us really considered. For us, this is really just a ticket out of politics. But for you? This is uprooting your entire life.”

“Ah, yes well. I had a dream the night I received the letter and in that dream, Edward told me that this was something I had to do and as impulsive as he is, he’s never been wrong before,” Roy mumbles, already mostly back to sleep himself.

So when Alard giggles, he smiles but doesn’t respond, just sighs and lets himself slip off to sleep.

* * *

“Technically, you’re supposed to put the veils on us, you know,” Edmund says over the sound of tinkling jewels. He does something that makes the jewels clash together discordantly and Roy tamps the urge to flinch away from the noise. Edmund snickers and repeats the action until there’s a smack that says Alard slapped his hands.

“Brother, it would be hard for the Führer to put the bridal veils on us, as he cannot see.”

“Excuses, excuses. I think he’s just mind-blown from the hours of hot sex. We melted him! Look, I think his brain is oozing out of his nose,” Edmund teases.

Roy sighs and sprawls over the bed. Edmund isn’t wrong. Roy aches in places that he’d forgotten had existed and he’d prefer a nap instead of whatever ceremony they’re about to be subjected to but needs must, he supposes. Edmund takes advantage of his position to jump onto the bed and straddle his waist, and Roy’s hands automatically settle upon his waist to steady him.

“Something for you, little one?” Roy asks and then yawns, which was unplanned but it throws Edmund into a rant, which is amusing. His flailing arms bring more of those shifting jewels and Roy briefly entertains the thought of throwing his energetic young husband on his knees so he can make those jewels sing a new melody.

“No,” Alard says as he plops down beside them on the bed, curling into Roy’s side with a yawn that rivals Roy’s earlier one. “We haven’t got long before the guards will come for us and then it’ll be loud people congratulating us for losing our virginity to such a fine specimen and asking us when we’ll adopt our first child, and I just want to relax before we have to deal with all of that.”

“Fine specimen, you say?” Roy bucks his hips, encouraging Edmund to grind down in retaliation and Alard sighs heavily, rolling away from them as if giving up on them. Edmund does something that has him scooting back into Roy’s side so Roy curls an arm around him, keeping him close. “I vote that a nap is in order.”

“Ah, the true reason you’re in favor of democracy.”

“Exactly! Who would ever veto a nap?”

“Me! Take your fuckin’ pants off,” Edmund wiggles against him, and Roy groans when he feels Edmund, half-hard and steadily growing.

“My dear, we haven’t the time for all the things I want to do to you,” he moans, head falling back on the pillows.

“What more could you possibly have that we haven’t already done?” Edmund sounds confused, plopping down on Roy’s chest with his arms crossed under his chin.

It’s Alard that laughs, hard enough that he nearly falls off the edge of the massive bed. “Told you you should have read some of my romance novels!”

“No way you fuckin’ nerd! I don’t need your stupid sappy novels to know how to have sex!”

“Yeah because you’re perfectly content to be a pillow princess,” Alard snorts and Roy can’t help but join him in his laughing at Edmund's expense. It’s true. Edmund is the perfect pillow princess.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Edmund is pouting; Roy can almost see it in his mind, only Edmund looks like… but he isn’t, he isn’t Edward and Roy needs to focus on anything else.

"It means that Roy is going to teach you what edging is and I'm going to laugh the entire time," Alard is still laughing but he isn't wrong. That sounds divine.

“Oh, he likes that idea,” Edmund says, rocking against Roy’s burgeoning erection, shifting so that his palms are flat on Roy’s chest. “He likes it a lot. Shiiiiiit,” he drags the curse out, already dripping against the expensive fabric of his wedding robes.

Roy cannot resist him; certainly not when Edmund is _his_ and he has no reason to even try. He rolls, trapping Edmund beneath him before the boy can process the flip, and tears the veil away from his face so he can capture his lips in a bruising kiss. Edmund whimpers, holding onto Roy’s arms but otherwise pliant, allowing Roy to take control. Edmund’s breath hitches as Roy crawls down the length of his body, settling between his splayed knees. It’s a simple matter to slide the hem of his robes up over his smooth belly, baring his twitching cock for Roy to mouth over while Edmund’s hips jump.

“Roy,” Alard says warningly. “We really don’t have time.”

Roy huffs a laugh over Edmund’s wet skin, twisting his tongue over the tip and trailing a fiery path down to the base of his cock. With his mouth still lightly touching him, Roy whispers, “My dear, I am only showing our little one a glimpse of what edging is.”

Alard laughs uproariously as Roy pulls Edmund’s robes back down, patting them back into place, leaving his eldest husband to whine, “What? No! Finish the job! Come back!”

“Here, you’re all disheveled now. Let me straighten you up,” Alard hops to work, jewels tinkling together like little bells, tugging Roy’s uniform into place while Edmund complains from the bed.

“I’m told that my hair looks irresistible when it’s disheveled,” Roy grins down at Alard, who pinches his side relentlessly.

“Hush, none of that. I’m on to you now. You use your charm to get out of doing any hard work but we have to go to this, it’s our wedding ceremony! And the king won’t let us leave until his guard inspects the array.”

“All the more reason for Roy to do me before we go,” Edmund mumbles, muffled by the bed. He must have rolled onto his belly. “It’ll be even more evidence.”

There’s a knock at the door and Roy catches Alard’s hands in his own, stilling his fidgeting fingers. “Darling, I believe that is our cue. Are we presentable?”

“You’d be presentable naked,” Edmund quips as he hops off the bed, stealing one of Roy’s hands.

“Remember what we told you?” That’s Alard, hip-checking his brother out of the way to smooth one last wrinkle from Roy’s uniform before turning to Edmund and perfecting his veil.

“The veils are a symbol to ward off evil and shouldn’t be removed until you’ve entered the threshold of your new home. The jewels and bells sewn into the veils are another means of warding off evil. The ceremony is just a formality, as the array on the bed was the true means of sealing our matrimony. All we’ll have to do is sign two documents, a copy for each country, and then we’ll be on our way back to Amestris,” he recites and Alard gives a hum of approval. “You truly have no one you’d wish to bring with you?”

“Just our favorite guard and his daughter. They’ve gone ahead and will be meeting us in Amestris.”

“Should I be concerned that you’ve by-passed the need for a passport into Amestris not once now but twice?”

“Nah, don’t stress so much about it. Our guard is probably the only one here who could forge the passports anyway,” Edmund tucks himself under Roy’s arm with a yawn and Roy marvels at the change from last night.

Last night, they’d all been filled with fear and unease and anger and now… Now, Roy wants nothing more than to toss these two back into bed and fuck them so hard they all curl into a sweaty pile to sleep. Strange how that works. Perhaps it’s because he keeps confusing them for Edward and Alphonse. Perhaps it’s from their early morning talk.

“All of our things should already be down with your entourage so as soon as the documents are signed, we can be on our way,” Alard says as he opens the door.

Roy has to loop an arm around Edmund’s waist to help keep him on his feet and he barely refrains from teasing him. He’s wobbling in a very telling manner, hips swaying, and Roy isn’t the only one to notice. The guard clears their throat uncomfortably but says nothing, just waits for Roy to guide Edmund to Alard’s side.

“Perhaps that last time was overdoing it,” he can’t help whispering and Edmund stamps his foot, hurting himself more than he bothers Roy.

Alard sighs in exasperation, grabbing Roy’s arm to act as his eyes and swatting at Edmund for good measure. “Brother, please. We’re supposed to act sophisticated. We are representing our kingdom. Please behave! And Roy, stop teasing him!”

“I can’t wait until we’re out of this city and I don’t have to act all princely and shit,” Edmund complains.

“Of course, little one. As soon as we’re home, you can take up your new title as a pillow princess instead.”

Behind them, the guard chokes.

“Oh, look. Now you’ve done it! Sir, are you okay? Sir? Maybe take a deep breath?” Alard abandons them to check on the guard while Edmund ducks his face against Roy’s side.

He can feel Edmund’s blush through the veil and his uniform but he’s also laughing helplessly, holding onto Roy to stay upright while Alard bounces between scolding them and patting the guard’s back.

Well. Their life together is certainly going to be interesting, Roy thinks as he listens to Alard and Edmund argue all the way to the Great Hall. There are no uneasy silences as they wait to be announced, only playful banter and Alard fussing at their clothes, and the contrast between the day before, when Roy and his team first arrived and stood at this same entrance, well. It feels an entire world apart.

“Smile, bastard, your forehead is growing wrinkles,” Edmund hisses seconds before the door swings open and they’re announced with a clear, ringing voice as “Führer Roy Mustang and his husbands Edmund and Alard Mustang.”

Shit, this is real. He’s married, he is well and truly bound to these two for life; bound by alchemy, by blood and soul, until death. Roy has a boy on each arm and they are each his husband, and already he feels a deep fondness for them.

Together, Edmund and Alard lead him across the hall, their jewels heralding their arrival in a wedding song all their own. They lead him down into a bow, all three bowing as one, and the king greets them, as does Hawkeye who is there as his eyes and as his witness. It is she who reads the treaty aloud, followed by the contract that serves as their wedding certificate. To be honest, Roy doesn’t listen to a word spoken. Alard’s thumb is sweeping nervously over the crease of his elbow and Edmund’s fingers are tapping rapidly over his forearm, and they’d applied more of that body oil and Roy is drowning in the sharply sweet scent of jasmine and bergamot.

And then Edmund curls his hand around Roy’s elbow, taps his wrist before laying a pen in the palm of his hand, and then Hawkeye’s familiar hand shows him where to sign his life away. Edmund signs next and then Alard’s hand is pulling away so that he can add his signature to their marriage certificate, and then the room breaks into applause and cheers.

Roy would feel cheated by the simplicity of it all if it hadn’t been for the night they shared together.

They’re ushered to a stable where horses await them, already laden with their belongings. Alard and Edmund are oddly quiet, though they’re clinging to him, their jeweled veils singing.

“Edmund is too short to ride alone,” Alard whispers, expertly dodging Edmund’s kick but there’s no denial from the shorter of his husbands. “He’ll have to ride with either you or me.”

“Dibs on the old man,” Edmund whispers back, grabbing hold of Roy’s sleeve and burrowing into his chest, showing that he has no intention of releasing Roy so he drapes his arm over Edmund’s back, letting him hide.

“Oh, right because you’re going to sleep the entire trip, aren’t you?” Alard accuses and Edmund grunts but doesn’t deny that either, pretending that he can’t hear him through the shield of Roy’s arm.

“Sir, we’re all packed and ready,” Havoc hands him the reins, ignoring Edmund’s sputtered protest, which cuts off when Roy steps smoothly into the stirrup that Havoc holds out for him and just as smoothly swings his leg over. “Do you need help, your highness?”

A jingle of jewels tells Roy that Edmund is shaking his head before he grabs Roy’s waiting hand and lets himself be hauled up on the horse. He wiggles until he’s comfortably cradled against Roy, stealing the reins from him as if that was his plan the entire time. Now that he thinks about it, that might have been the brothers’ plan from the second they learned about their mode of transport. They’re proving to be overtly possessive of him, or perhaps they’re simply overprotective and a small portion of Roy finds himself delighting in their efforts.

Edmund gives a gentle snap of the reins and the horse starts walking, and the sounds of his team relaxing signals their exit from the walls of Artaxerxes. Small pockets of conversation surround them, encouraging Edmund and Alard to relax, as well. They answer questions directed their way and they banter back and forth with each other, and so the first day of travel goes.

They set up camp halfway between Artaxerxes and Amestris, everyone joking around the campfire as Breda and Falman throw together a simple dinner. Edmund dozes against Roy’s side as Alard shares his love of all animals with Hawkeye. Fuery and Havoc are playing a card game and keeping an eye on their surroundings while tossing barbs with Breda and Falman.

“Oh sure, but wait’ll you see your new house. It’s tiny in comparison to your palace,” Havoc says in reply to something Alard had said to Hawkeye and only then does Roy realize that he’s been drowsing as well, his head resting on Edwa– _Edmund’s_.

“We don’t need a palace,” Alard defends, his voice prim. He scoots closer to Roy, almost as if in defense. “We just need a big library,” he adds, more jokingly.

“Oh, I’m sure the Führer will give you a big– “

Hawkeye coughs, the sound as threatening as a gunshot, and Havoc hurriedly corrects himself, “library! I was gonna say library! Geez, Lieutenant!” he laughs nervously. “You two are gonna be the most spoiled house husbands this side of the desert!”

Alard droops like a wilted sunflower, the change so palpable that Roy can sense it. “Oh, we’re to be house husbands? What does that mean, exactly?” His team go silent, clearly not expecting Alard’s sadness at being confined to a house. “What if we wanted to get a job or go to university? What if we want to do more than just read books and wait for the Führer to come home?”

Ah. This, at least, is easily remedied. “Darling,” he begins, holding up his arm for Alard to scoot closer, shifting his brother who jerks with an indelicate snort, “Havoc is only joking. There will be no expectations for you in Amestris, other than to live a long and prosperous and joyous life. Whatever you wish to do, our marriage will not prevent you from accomplishing it. If anything, I will endeavor to ensure that any goal you wish to reach will be achieved.”

“Oh,” Alard says but his tone is far more cheerful again and Roy leans to press a kiss to his temple, and the world explodes into fiery agony.

* * *

The world ceases to exist in a rational, linear stream for Roy but for his team and for his husbands, the world goes to hell in a handbasket. Roy drops with a gurgling grunt, blood burbling from his lips, dripping from his left eye. Al lurches for him, cradling his head on his lap, his blood staining the white of his veil and robes, the sand beneath them. His team forms a barrier around them but Ed is leaping to his feet, focusing on the direction from which the shot came from.

A wall of blue lightning surrounds them, turning the sand to glass wherever it touches, and Ed passes through the heat without even a singed hair but Al is staring down at Roy. His eyes– his _remaining_ eye is open, staring milky and sightless up at the starry sky, while his left eye socket is a mangled mess of blood and flesh and shredded metal shrapnel from the remnants of the bullet. He keeps trying to touch it, to put pressure on it, fighting against Al’s hands until Fuery joins him, holding Roy down.

“Roy? Roy, I’m just going to– oh, I really need you to stay still okay Roy? I’ve got to get the bullet out, just– please,” Al raises his hands and they begin to glow as he holds them over Roy’s pale, blood-drenched face. “This will not feel pleasant,” he warns but Roy is lost to the pain and the snap and crackle of fire.

It does not prevent him from bellowing raggedly into the night air as the bullet fragments shift in his skin, pulled from his eyes by the light emitted by Al’s hands. The sound of his agonized shout is almost enough to drown out the rain of bullets smashing against Ed’s shield, burning to a useless ash and blowing away in the wind. They can’t see through the wall of blue fire but they can definitely hear the sounds of grunts and screams, of gunfire. Fuery grabs Al by the shoulders, shouting, “We have to move you back, to the tent, c’mon!” and Al slings his hand out, the shrapnel falling harmlessly to the sand, and together they scramble backward, pulling Roy to safety as the horses stampede past where they were only moments before, terrified by the chaos.

Al loses his useless slippers in the mad dash to get Roy to safety and the sand burns the tender skin of his feet but he ignores it, focused on healing the remaining damage done to Roy’s face. The eye is gone but Al can’t stop trying, he cannot allow Roy to die here, bleeding out in the desert sand. He imagines Roy’s other eye as he remembers it, dark and snapping with intensity, seen through red eyes gleaming from a suit of armor, full of life, and that’s all it takes. The milky film recedes but Roy is still gasping with pain and the flickering lights of the fire are bright enough to irritate his newly restored vision and he grasps at Al’s hands, frantic.

“Edward, where is Edward? Al? What? I don’t– I don’t understand– “ Roy pants, blinking rapidly up at him, clutching his forearms.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re right here,” Al says and Fuery gasps, he must be so confused, but Al doesn’t have any attention to spare for him right now, he has to make sure that he stopped all of the bleeding and healed everything and that Roy is safe and healthy.

“Al! Al, where the hell! Al! Roy!” Ed’s frantic screams break through the chaos, and then he’s running barefoot across the sand, veil catching in the wind and flying away, and then he’s dropping down at Roy’s side, capturing one of his hands and cursing vividly as he sees the destruction of his left eye.

The skin split from the force of the bullet, slashing a line from his forehead down to his cheek but Al’s alchemy has already healed it, sealing the wound shut so that it looks as if his left eye is merely closed instead of missing entirely. Ed cups his cheek, gentle and feather-light, as he whispers, “Fuck, Roy, you okay?”

“Edward?” he rasps, chest still heaving, eye still blinking too quickly, too pale from blood loss and pain. Ed grabs one of his hands while Al holds the other and Roy turns to stare at Al, human and young and covered with his blood. “Alphonse? How? Am I dead?”

“No, you asshole bastard! You're not fuckin' dead and neither are we! It’s a really long fuckin’ story but we’ll have plenty of time to tell it to you after you’ve been looked at by a doctor because you’re stuck with us forever,” Ed tells him bluntly, and then he leans in to bruise his lips with a desperate kiss while Al lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. “I trust Al with his healing but he doesn’t really know anatomy all that great.”

"Fuck you, brother," Al mutters but he lets go of Roy to wring his hands nervously. Roy snatches his hand back, clinging to both Elrics– no, they're _Mustangs_ now. "I did the best I could but I didn't know how to create an eye, brother, and it was gone, completely gone!"

"I can see you, you're both here. I can _see_ you," Roy mumbles, stuck on that singular fact. Fuery seems just as stunned. "It's been two years, how are you just… you're here?"

"Yeah, bastard, we're here," Ed pushes at his shoulder when he tries to sit, forcing him back flat upon the sand. It’s wet beneath them, soaked with blood, and it can’t be comfortable but Roy doesn’t seem to mind. “Relax, we ain’t going anywhere this time. Relax.”

“You should rest, you’re going to be tired. I had to pull your energy too, mine wasn’t enough,” Al says, swaying. “We’re going to sleep for days,” he adds and his eyelids are already drooping heavily.

“I used a lot too, had to tap into the Source. Damn idiots tried to run and I had to rip up half the desert to trap ‘em,” Ed yawns before continuing, “gave Hawkeye and the others a short version so they wouldn’t be too freaked. Then I made a wagon they can throw us in when we pass out.”

“Edward,” Roy rasps, drawing their attention back to him where he is still staring up at them as if dazed, or perhaps just awestruck. “You lost your veil.”

Ed laughs, curling over with the force of it, the rough intonation slightly tinged with hysteria. “That all you can think of, you bastard?”

“Why, yes. I had plans for that veil, you see,” Roy smirks and Al swats him without thinking, immediately apologizing when Roy winces with pain. “It’s quite alright, darling. I suppose you can simply take turns. Sharing is caring, or so I’m told.”

“I see the Führer is fine,” Hawkeye remarks drily, startling all four of them. “If he can make naughty jokes then he can limp his way into this wagon so we can return to Amestris. I have no wish to remain out in the open desert all night.”

Roy aims a sloppy salute in her direction, dragging Ed’s hand along with his, and grinning when she finally notices that he is staring straight at her, his remaining eye dark and vibrant. “Lieutenant, may I say that it is absolutely marvelous to see you again? Why, I feel that it has been years since I’ve been able to see that glare in it’s full force!”

“Keep on and she’s going to shoot your other eye out,” Ed hisses at him.

Hawkeye makes a strangled sort of choking noise that could be a laugh but might also be a sob, before ordering, “Get your lazy husband in that wagon or I will be forced to shoot you all. I want to be back in Amestris before the sun rises and unless you have an alchemy that can make that happen as well as perform miracles, then get moving.”

“Yes, sir!” The chorus of shouts makes Hawkeye’s lips twitch as if with the need to smile but she hides it, spinning sharply on her heel to get the others moving, as well. They will be safely home before sunrise and she will make sure of it. The Führer deserves a break from the world and she and their team will ensure he gets it.


	5. Chapter 5

Roy sleeps through their return to Amestris, as do Edward and Alphonse which is probably for the best. There are a million questions to be answered and the appearance of their guard and his daughter only adds a million more.

It’s Maes Hughes awaiting them, Nina nestled in the cradle of his elbow, her arms loose around his neck as she dozes. “Ah, I knew something must have happened!” he says, smiling at them with that almost manic grin. “I went from being a guard that grew up in Artaxerxes and being a single parent to being a Brigadier General with two beautiful daughters and an even more beautiful wife!”

“Maes?” Riza whispers, a hand covering her mouth. Behind her, her men are silent, staring at him with shock. She takes a shaky step forward, disregarding every shred of professional dignity ingrained into her very core in favor of reaching out to him.

His grin widens and he scoops her into a hug, careful not to wake Nina. “It is a very strange, very long story. At least, I think it must be because the last thing I remember from before Artaxerxes is staring at a Homunculus and laying in a pool of blood. It’s as if I have two lives now and I’m sure those Elrics are at the center of it!”

“Actually, they’re Mustangs now, General,” Havoc pipes up, his cigarette discarded on the ground by his feet. “Both of ‘em. And also they’re princes.”

“I… I see. Well, I’m not surprised. Clearly not as surprised as you all are to see me! Perhaps we can take this somewhere safe? I feel exposed. Also, can someone call Gracia?” Maes runs a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I’ve put her through enough pain and I miss her and Elicia something fierce.”

Riza snaps out of her daze, falling back onto her professional nature to see through until she can return to her apartment where life makes sense. “Of– of course, sir. We’ll be taking the Fuhrer back to his home and calling for a doctor to look over him and the boys, there was an incident in the desert. You’ll come along with us and we’ll call Gracia from there. Would you like to lay her down in the wagon?”

“No thanks! I’ll carry her, she’s not heavy at all! Man, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be back here! Mind catching me up on the current events?”

The men all begin talking at once, stumbling over each other to talk, surrounding Maes. Breda snaps the reins, gets the horses moving again, and they proceed through the crowded streets, almost as if in a dream.

* * *

Roy wakes up to a sunny room.

He wakes up to a sunny room.

Roy wakes up and he can actually see the sun filtering into his bedroom. He can see the shifting rays glancing off of the windows, off of the heads of golden hair that are sleeping in the bed with him. He sucks in a breath, surprised. For a moment, he just… tries to remember how to breathe, how to think, how to process the visional data being collected by his brain because it’s been years since he’s been able to see and the light… hurts.

He blinks, blinks again, tries to hold back the pained moan at how sensitive his eye is to the sun but he fails and there’s movement surging up from the nest of pillows and blankets at his side.

“Roy?” that’s Alphonse, yawning and stretching and accidentally yanking the covers off of his brother who attempts to burrow back under them only for Alphonse to yank them off more purposefully. “Roy, you’re awake!”

“Mmm, Roy?” Edward rubs a fist at his eyes, also stretching. They’re both wearing his clothes; Alphonse is in a white button-up and Edward has snagged a maroon sweater, and they look delectable and he can _see_ them, he can actually see them. “Oh, no. Are you panicking? Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Edward is in his lap before he can blink, wrapping his arms around his neck and nuzzling his face into the side.

“Is it– is it actually you? You’re both…” Roy chokes, breath catching on a sob and then Alphonse is burying himself under Roy’s arm, and he’s holding them both. “I used to hear your voices, I thought I recognized you last night but I was– you’ve been gone for so long, I was afraid to even hope, to believe– “

“We’re really here, you’re not crazy,” Edward says vehemently, though the effect is lessened by the kisses that he’s peppering over Roy’s neck. “You were never crazy.”

Roy just holds them and lets himself cry. They hold him back, whispering reassuring words to him in between the breaks where he simply breathes.

It’s a long time before he’s calmed down enough to actually talk and then it’s only to request that someone turn the lights down low. Alphonse jumps up to close the heavy curtains and dim the lights and then burrows back under the blankets with Edward and Roy.

“I guess you wanna know how we ended up in Artaxerxes huh?” Edward hums, trailing his fingers over Roy’s abdomen, twirling symbols over his skin.

“It would be nice to know,” Roy answers, kissing first his forehead and then Alphonse’s. They’re snuggled into his sides, both laying their heads on his chest, as close as they can get and he’s in heaven. “It has plagued my waking and dreaming worlds for years.”

“When I did my final transmutation, my initial plan was to trade my Gate for Alphonse’s body. It worked, at least I’m pretty sure it did. But on our way back through the Gate, we passed through a different one. A bigger one. It was massive!” Edward says, raising his arm as if to emphasize the size.

“It was bigger than the World’s Door! And when we passed through there was nothing but darkness and a million pinpricks of light, all shining in the distance,” Alphonse adds.

“And in the center of that area, there was this huge globe of light. It was incomprehensibly large and glowing with a rainbow of colors. If you listened close enough, you could hear the voices of a million different worlds.”

“Worlds?” Roy asks. “More than one?”

Alphonse takes over again. “Apparently there are an infinite number of parallel worlds. Some are nearly identical to ours, changed only by tiny details. There are some that are so different you wouldn’t be able to comprehend them.”

“Inside this globe was all of the knowledge that exists in all of the worlds, every speck of information. And guarding this globe, this Gate, were two brothers. Kaos and Kronos. Together, they oversee everything though they take no active part in any of the worlds they look over, unlike Truth. And Truth is not the Truth, only a Truth. There is a Veritas, and that is the globe, the source of all knowledge.”

“The globe is a sentient being?” Roy questions. “Veritas is the source of all knowledge?”

“Yes. It kinda makes sense, in a way. But it’s so hard to perceive, it’s all just so vast! The concept is just so big.”

“But passing through it, passing through that Gate? It left a trace on us, a big fuckin’ trace. Like an inner scar.”

“More like… like a mini gate than a scar. Only instead of having to pay an equivalent exchange to use this gate, all we have to do is focus on it and we have access to that source, we can use it without even thinking about it. It’s less like alchemy, more like magic really,” Alphonse tries to explain it a little better but the thought of having access to that much power, that much knowledge, is inconceivable to Roy.

“So how does this lead to the two of you as princes of a mysterious city?” Roy rests his head on Alphonse’s and runs his fingers through Edward’s hair. It’s more soothing to Roy than either of them, grounding him. He has his eye shut, out of habit more than anything.

“Passing back out of the Gate scrambled our minds up. If we hadn’t been holding on to each other so close, I’m not sure we would have made it out. That power took everything from our brains, all of our knowledge, and used that to build what it thought was our home. It took the tiny details and built them into our world. Artaxerxes is the modern Xerxes, with all of the souls that were used to make Philosopher’s Stones reborn into new lives. It took the lives that we missed the most and reintegrated them into this world,” Edward explains.

Alphonse continues, “Like my love of romance novels? That mixed with Brother’s longing for you and twisted into a way to get you without separating us. If you could have seen the city, you would have seen the tacky decor all over the city’s walls.”

“Gargoyles are not tacky!” Edward protests, head popping up so he can glare at his little brother. “They’re cool.”

“We are not decorating Amestris with gargoyles,” Roy interjects dryly.

“Is our life just going to be the two of you tag-teaming me forever?” he whines, ducking his head under Roy’s chin, butting his brother out of the way.

“Maybe,” Alphonse teases, nipping at Edward’s ear playfully.

“Wait. The source took knowledge of people you missed and reintegrated them? Does that mean…”

“Our mom is alive and well,” Alphonse says gleefully. Edward hides his beaming smile under the curtain of his hair. “She’s traveling with our father!”

“And also…” Edward pauses, shoving at Alphonse to make him roll off of Roy’s chest and he moves away too. “Maes and Nina are here too.”

Roy jerks up, throwing himself from the bed. His eye is still closed but he knows the layout of his room by heart, has navigated it blind for years, well enough to put on trousers and shoes, only pausing when Alphonse clears his throat.

“What? I have to– I need to go see. Shit, I can see him, I can see you,” he opens his eye, taking in the vision of the sun dancing over them as if blessing them with its light. “You are so beautiful, both of you. Can you take me to him? I’d like to see him.”

“He’s with Gracia and Elicia, and Nina too. You might want to give them a little time, Hawkeye said Gracia was pretty emotional. I guess she threw a pitcher at him, thinking he was Envy,” Edward gives a rueful shake of his head.

Roy smiles sadly, picturing the scene in his head before giving a shake of his head. “Well, then. I would like to escort my lovely husbands to meet my only living family. Madame Christmas was quite livid over the news that I was being forced to marry, I’d like to reassure her that we’re all rather happy with this turn of events.”

“You want us to meet your mom?” Alphonse slides off the bed and, good gracious, his button-up swallows him and his maroon sweater on Edward? Well, it practically devours him. He wants to shove them back into bed and take his time getting to know their bodies but if he puts this off, Madame Christmas will show up unannounced.

“My aunt,” he corrects. “She owns a bar nearby.”

“You’re the Fuhrer and you can’t pay for her retirement?” Edward sticks his tongue out at him when Roy looks his way.

“She’d be so bored she’d put the country in order in a matter of days and then what would I do?” Roy muses, still watching them.

Edward gives a snap of his fingers and the sweater shrinks to a more wearable size, still too big on him. Another snap gives him a pair of tight black pants. Alphonse gives himself a button-up and a pair of tan slacks, a more business-like choice than his brother but no less attractive.

“Well, we have many meetings to attend. Madame Christmas and then we’ll have to arrange something with Hawkeye and my team, they’re likely dying for more information about you two. The infamous Elric brothers.”

“Actually, we’re Mustangs now. You keep forgetting that,” Alphonse smiles at him. He looks so innocent with his chubby cheeks and his short hair, slightly taller and stockier than Edward despite being younger than him. Roy now knows that he only looks innocent but he’s more like Edward than he lets on, more mischievous and out-going whereas Edward is more likely to hide in a dark room with a lamp and a book.

“Your husbands,” Edward adds, smirking. He stretches, shaking out his hair, combing his fingers through the long strands. They brush through the tangled mess and then deftly plait the golden locks together until he has a braid that swings around his hips. “Yeah, putting that eye to good use ain’t ya, pervert?”

“It is far from my fault that your hair is so luxurious, that it looks like gold spun into thread and woven into a braid.”

Edward snorts. “Careful, Al’ll faint from your poetic words.”

“Brother! You like the way he talks too!” Alphonse covers his blushing face with his hands and Roy laughs, truly laughs, a deep belly-aching laugh before slinging his arms around their shoulders, tugging them into his side and leading them to the door.

“Come on, my loves. We have many political matters to sort out, mysterious resurrections to explain and family to visit!”

Edward digs his heels in, snapping his fingers to create Roy a pair of darkly-tinted glasses. “Here, to protect your eye,” he says as he stretches on his toes to slip them onto Roy’s face, kissing his chin for good measure.

“Thank you, little one,” Roy’s lips curve in a fond smile, his heart brimming with the abundance of his love for these two boys. “Now, I have a world to show you off to.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are: the final chapter, also known as "Roy and Al tease the ever-lovin'-fuck out of Ed"! I hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The sunset is gorgeous over the endless expanse of ocean; a blush of pinks and purples and blues, all vividly bright and reflecting off of the water like a painting projected into the sky. The world is quiet save for the crash of the waves upon the shoreline, sending water splashing upon his bare feet. The water carries a shell onto the wet sand and he bends to inspect it, a smile curving his lips when there comes a sharp whistle from behind him. He pockets the shell without looking too closely at it, just in time for Edward to crash into his back, looping his arms around Roy’s waist.

“Hey there, ol’ man,” Edward says, sliding a hand over Roy’s backside and squeezing. “That’s some ass you got on you, pity you hide it under that stuffy old coat most of the time.”

“Hmm, perhaps if you showed such appreciation more often, I’d be more willing to forgo the coat,” Roy hums, turning so that he can pull Edward up against his chest. His long braid is whipping in the breeze coming over the ocean, snapping against Roy’s arms, but he’s forgone his own usual garb for a pair of thin shorts and nothing else. “My but you would tempt the sun from the sky,” he purrs, ducking to draw Edward into a kiss.

Water crashes over both of them, drenching them in liquid cold enough to quench any desires for frolicking on the beach. “You promised!” Alphonse yells from his seat on a blanket a safe distance from the water. He’s surrounded by books and a basket of food and he’s also wearing very little in the way of clothes; shorts and a sleeveless shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose. “No sex in public places! You are public role models!”

“There’s no one here, Al,” Edward says, sighing in exasperation. “It’s just us! And it’s just a kiss!”

“It’s never just a kiss! And look at him, he’s doing the smolder, he’s going to rip those shorts off any second now,” Alphonse replies, gesturing at Roy.

Roy smirks down at Edward, already tracing down his sides to coax forth a full-body shiver, fingertips coming to a halt along the waistband of his shorts. Roy drops his head, dipping in to feather a kiss to the tip of Edward’s nose. He’s half-hard already, pushing closer to Roy to rut against his thigh, his eyelids drifting closed in preparation of Roy’s kiss, biting his lip in anticipation. Roy pops the waistband of his shorts against his skin and pulls away, dodging Edward’s punch, laughing.

“I will dump another wave on you both!”

“Spoilsport!” Edward calls but he’s giving chase, running after Roy. “Get back here, you bastard! Finish what you started!”

“Catch me first!” Roy calls over his shoulder, skidding over the wet sand as he runs.

Edward is, of course, never afraid to use every available resource to his advantage. A wall of sand rises before Roy and he smashes into it, rolling through the resulting rain of sand to land on his side, still laughing as Edward drops to his knees over him, straddling him with a victorious smile.

Edward is a vision of otherworldly beauty; his hair falls free in a golden curtain around his shoulders, his hair tie long gone, and his eyes are molten gold, shimmering in the setting sun.

“Caught you,” he breathes and then he’s kissing Roy, exuberant as he always is, scrabbling on top of Roy.

Roy can never deny him, certainly not when he’s cupping Roy’s cheek in his hand and kissing over the gnarled scar of his left eye. Definitely not when he’s panting, “How are you so fuckin’ hot, damn it,” and grinding down onto Roy’s waist.

With a devilish grin, Roy flips them over, trapping Edward beneath him with his hair sprawled out on the dark wet sand. Waves break around them, water curling around Edward’s hair, tugging at the strands as Edward smiles smugly up at him. Roy lays half over him, one leg between his, as he gently strokes over Edward’s cheek, down over his neck, sweeping away stray locks of hair. “You are utterly breath-taking, love,” he sighs before kissing him, a brief tease of his lips. Fire spreads over Edward’s skin, the most delicious of blushes. “My lovely, ah, how you move me,” he rocks his hips down, barely brushing over Edward’s erection.

Edward’s head tilts back, gold eyelashes fluttering upon his flushed cheeks, as he bares himself for Roy, laid out like a feast that is all Roy’s for the taking. His hips buck, calling Roy’s attention to his aching length but Roy ignores him, focusing on kissing his lips, supping on the divine taste that is Edward’s mouth.

“Touch me, it won’t take long, please Roy,” Edward begs between presses of lips, arching up into the cradle of Roy’s body. He’s already leaking, precum pooling onto his belly only to be washed away moments later by the ocean.

Roy hums, the sound vibrating through Edward, who whines. “My dear, we are on a public beach.”

“Wha– “ those beautiful golden eyes blink up at him, confused and betrayed.

“We should truly wait until we get back to the hotel for such activities,” he continues, smiling down at Edward. He allows his hand to feather over him, feeling the desperate throb in his cock as he begs for release. “Mmm, yes. As beautiful as you are, with the ocean as a backdrop, I would much prefer to dine on you in private. The only eyes I wish to share you with are Alphonse’s, and he’s already given his opinion.”

“I hate you, I hate you both, fuckin’ touch me,” Edward snarls but Roy is already pulling away, sitting up to search out Alphonse who is, completely within expectation, watching them with a hand rearranging his bulge.

“Be nice, brother! You don’t hate us,” Alphonse calls, snickering as Roy abandons him on the beach to join Alphonse on the blanket. He accepts the glass of lemonade with a grateful hum, curling around Alphonse despite his protests. “No, my books! You are both heathens, were you raised in barns??”

“I’m nowhere near your books, darling. I do think I’m ready for dinner, I find myself,” he sweeps his gaze over Alphonse, over Edward still sprawled on the beach, “quite starved.”

“You’re an insatiable beast, is what you are,” Alphonse drops a kiss on his forehead but begins to gather their belongings, packing them away into the baskets. “Devour us when we get back to the hotel.”

“I look forward to it,” Roy bites his shoulder, delighting in the soft moan that Alphonse tries to bite back. “I also look forward to finally teaching our little one what edging is.”

“What are you two plotting?” Edward shouts when he hears Alphonse giggling, finally sitting up and wiggling awkwardly in a telling manner. “Better not be anything mean.”

“Oh, you love it when we’re both mean to you, brother!”

“Do not,” he says petulantly but there’s still a blush burning his skin, and his face is scrunched up in a pout. “It always leads to me being an overstimulated mess, while you two take turns wrecking me and teasing me.”

“See, that’s not mean. That just sounds really fun. So much fun, in fact, that we should get back to the hotel like, right now,” Alphonse finishes packing up, throwing the blanket over a basket handle that he shoves at Roy.

“Perhaps the two of you should put on a shirt first? Otherwise you might incite a riot with all that beautiful skin on display,” Roy smirks, staring wolfishly at them.

“Fuck you,” Edward pouts.

“As soon as we get back to the hotel,” Roy promises, waggling his eyebrows.

* * *

The hotel door has barely closed behind them before Roy is hauling Edward up, the boy’s legs tangling behind his back as he enthusiastically returns the kiss that Roy presses to his lips. He’s so very light that Roy carries him with ease, strolling across the bedroom, and it must be particularly arousing because Edward is already mewling, rutting against him. Alphonse locks the door and meets them at the side of the bed, skin bare and gleaming in the fading light ricocheting through their balcony doors. In his hands dangles a length of silk, reinforced by Alphonse’s strange arrayless, clapless alchemy to be fairly indestructible.

He tosses Edward on the bed, watching him bounce, before he and Alphonse pounce on him, Alphonse securing his wrists while Roy ties his ankles to the foot of the bed.

“No, no we are not playing this game, untie me right the fuck now,” Edward snarls, yanking at his restrainsts, utterly helpless and vulnerable to their advances. “I’m serious, I’m too fuckin’ horny for this. C’mon!”

“Brother, do you remember that talk we had about edging?” Alphonse trails his fingernails along Edward’s side, grinning when goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch, when Edward squirms away from his touch. His cock is painfully hard and drooling, bobbing against his flat belly and smearing fluid over his smooth skin.

“Y– yeah? And?”

Roy takes his place between Edward’s legs, smirking lasciviously up at him from between his already-twitching thighs. He licks along the crease of his thigh and hip, just narrowly avoiding his erection. Edward whines, high and thready, trying to buck up, to wiggle so that Roy will give his aching length some attention but Roy dodges him, mouthing over the silky skin of his thigh.

“Aa-ah! Please! Fuckin’ touch me, bastard!”

“But Edward,” Roy inches his hand closer, narrowly avoiding touching him where he knows that Edward most wants to be touched, “I _am_ touching you.” He kisses right above Edward’s knee then bites lightly, licking over the red mark to soothe the skin.

Edward whines, hips rocking helplessly.

Alphonse settles on his stomach, pinning him to the bed, and gingerly rolls one of his nipples between his fingers. The skin pebbles instantly and Alphonse leans down to lath at the pert nipple, keeping his touch feather-light, and Roy knows that he’s smirking against Edward’s chest when he bucks against the restraints, trying to get him to take more of his nipple into his mouth.

Roy presses his forehead to Alphonse’s back, warning him before he ducks down, spreading Edward’s cheeks to reveal his pretty, fluttering hole. Alphonse steadies himself, knees firm on the bed on either side of Edward’s slender waist, just in time; Edward starts thrashing desperately the second that Roy lays his tongue flat over Edward’s hole. He pants and whines, not used to being teased for so long, not used to not having his every desire granted immediately upon his request.

“I think we’ve spoiled you, little one,” Roy hums, his breath blowing over Edward’s wet skin. “Now it’s time for you to spoil us.”

He thrusts his tongue inside Edward, devouring him like Edward is his favorite meal. He is. Roy loves the taste of him, loves how desperate and needy Edward sounds when Roy eats him out. Loves the muffled sound when Alphonse leans in to kiss him, just as frantic and desperate as Edward. Alphonse ruts against him, avoiding Edward’s cock but rubbing his own against Edward’s stomach, smearing pre over his belly. Roy cannot see them but he knows that Alphonse has his fingers twisted into Edward’s still-wet hair, tugging his mouth perfectly against his own.

Roy loves this; loves twirling his tongue around Edward’s rim, spreading his cheeks wider so he can thrust deeper within him, saliva drooling down his chin, as his fingers dimple Edward’s pale skin and Edward wails, yanking at his restraints, dying to curl his arms around Alphonse’s waist or to sink his fingers into Roy’s hair but unable to do either. Edward is panting like a feral cat in heat, yowling and snarling in turns, spitting out incoherent curses, and Roy laughs, hot breath gusting over Edward’s drenched skin.

Roy decides to give him a little break, sitting up to kiss along the knobs of Alphonse’s spine. He releases Edward’s mouth with a gasp, wrenching around to meet Roy in a panting, open-mouthed kiss. He braces himself with one hand upon Roy’s chest and one on Edward’s, giving Roy everything he is, every ounce of passion that isn’t already bestowed onto Edward, leaving nothing in reserve for himself.

Roy is overwhelmed with the sheer glory of him, of Edward– of their trust and devotion and adoration, of their love. He stands on his knees and lifts Alphonse easily, encouraging him to wrap his legs around his waist while Roy devours his mouth as fervently as he devoured his older brother’s hole. They both ignore Edward’s thrashing and begging, ignore the way the head of his cock is flushed an angry red, ignore the way the tip weeps pearls of precum that pools on his belly. Edward’s entire body is tense, a coiled wire ready to snap, and there are tears welling in the corner of his golden eyes.

“Look at him,” Roy demands and Alphonse tears away obediently, observing the way that Edward’s lip tears beneath his teeth, the skin splitting open like ripe fruit and just as luscious. He’s flushed from his cheeks all the way to the tensed muscles of his abdomen and he squirms beneath the combined intensity of their wanton stares.

Alphonse trails his fingertips over Edward’s length, licking his lips when the hot skin jumps at the light touch. “You’re so pretty, brother.”

“Mmm, both of you are. Divine beings, all mine for the taking,” Roy whispers huskily, clutching Alphonse closer to him.

“Then take me,” Edward rasps, letting his head fall back on the bed. His hips jerk upward as far as he can stretch but Roy just hauls Alphonse a little further up his bed, keeping Edward from touching either of them. “Please, I’m so hard it fuckin’ hurts, fuckin’ touch me!”

“Maybe if you were a little more mannerly, like Alphonse is,” Roy hums. He peppers Alphonse’s neck with a line of bites, leaving bruises blooming in the wake of his mouth. “Maybe if you weren’t so utterly scrumptious like this, dragged to the edge and left to dangle there, all moaning and begging and crying for us to destroy you.”

“Please, please, please let me come! I’ve been strung out like this all day! Please, I can’t take any more! Roy, Alphonse, please!”

Alphonse smiles into Roy’s hair, head tilted so that Roy can mark up his skin. “He’s begging so nicely now, sir.”

“He is but you’ve been so well-behaved, would you like a turn first?” Roy nibbles along his jaw, mixing little bites in with the wet glide of his mouth.

“I was thinking we could try something new?” he leans in to whisper in Roy’s ear, so that Edward can’t hear him, “I think we can both take him.”

Roy pulls away, obsidian eyes sparking with interest. “One on each end or both of his squeezed into his tight little ass?”

Alphonse ruts against him, rocking. He’s so hard, just as on edge as Edward but so much more patient. “Oh, can we both… at the same time? Will we fit? It wouldn’t hurt him, would it? I want to, I really want to– “ Alphonse moans, eager.

“We can both fit, we just have to stretch him very wide in preparation,” Roy says. His voice is so deep, so rough and both boys love the sound, how wrecked and gravelly he sounds when he’s this turned on. “But we have to make sure he doesn’t come during the process.”

“Can you do that, brother? If you keep from coming, we can both fit inside you at the same time,” Alphonse crawls down Roy, resuming his position over Edward, staring earnestly down at him, his eyes practically glowing.

Edward whimpers, body twitching, tugging against the restraints once more before giving in, body going limp over the bed. Exhausted from struggling but so very ready for release. “Whatever, I’ll do whatever, just please! Fuckin’ please!”

Roy grins, drinking in those beautiful pleas and whimpers. “Of course, my love. My loves. Anything you desire and more, I’ll give you that which you didn’t even know you desired. Just let me tease you a little longer first.”

He licks up the throbbing vein along the underside of Edward’s cock, feeling it jump beneath his tongue. Roy takes the head into his mouth, holding it in the warm cavern. He rolls his testicles in one hand, feeling them tense and tighten, drawing in as his cock grows harder; Roy pulls away before Edward can orgasm, smiling when he screams his frustration.

Roy waits until Edward relaxes again, aided by the gentle press of Alphonse’s lips moving lazily against his, before he takes Edward into his mouth again, letting the weight of him press over his tongue. Edward whimpers but keeps from tensing his body, returning his brother’s lazy kiss. Roy reads the signs of his body like a guidebook, allowing each tense and jerk of his muscles to warn him of Edward’s impending orgasm, using them to back off before Edward can come.

He pulls away, climbing off of the bed to search for their kit, digging out pots of oil to place at the boys’ side before resuming his position, dipping a slick finger inside his tight rim as he sucks Edward back down, his throat tightening around his length.

“Close– I’m– I’m so close!”

“Good job, brother,” Alphonse praises him because Roy can’t, too busy adding a second finger and biting down on Edward’s thigh, just enough pain to pull him away from the edge.

“It hurts, it hurts, please it’s too much,” Edward tosses his head, tears dripping down his flushed cheeks.

“It will feel so good,” Roy promises. “This will be the most intense orgasm of your life, little one. And it will feel as if you are experiencing a million orgasms all at once and it will be magnificent to watch, to feel, as you finally erupt around us.”

“Shit, your mouth,” Edward moans, allowing Alphonse to trap him in another kiss.

Roy keeps his pace torturously slow, taking every second of thirty minutes to stretch Edward’s tiny little hole wide enough to fit both Roy and Alphonse; god, it’s moments like this that Roy is reminded how much younger they are, how much smaller they are than him. And during that time he brings Edward to the edge perhaps five times, until all he can do is lay upon the bed and let Roy and Alphonse tease him; Roy taking turns eating him out and sucking his cock, Alphonse marking up his neck and his chest with a string of bruises, abusing his nipples until they’re swollen and oversensitive.

“Please, please, I’m ready,” Edward babbles.

Roy pats Alphonse’s side then curls his slick fingers around his waist, tugging him back into the open sprawl of Edward’s legs. “If you go first, can you avoid getting off until I give you permission?” Alphonse is nodding before he finishes speaking, and Roy gives him the go-ahead to fuck into Edward, taking his time to rock into him.

Edward is so close, so sensitive, that his hips cant away from him at first. He doesn’t even make a noise, just throws his head back and exhales harshly. His hair is a tangled mess around his head, knotted from Alphonse’s hands and the way he rocks it over the pillows. It’s as if Alphonse is shoving the air from his lungs, the words from his brain, with every sinuous roll of his hips.

“So good, you are both doing so very good for me,” Roy moans, finally taking himself into hand, gripping firmly at the base to stave off his own release. They just look so beautiful, so orgasmic. Edward moves as much as he can, minute jerks of his lower half, thighs and stomach muscles tensing and holding taut. Roy releases the rope holding his legs in place, grabbing under his knees to yank his legs up and then he pushes on them, forcing them back until they’re touching his chest. “Oh beautiful, you are both so beautiful.”

“Roy, I’m– he got so tight just now, I don’t know how long– “ Alphonse pants, leaning over Edward, trapping his legs between their chests so that Roy has free range of his hands but also revealing Edward’s hole, stretching wide around Alphonse’s cock.

“It’s okay, darling, just a few more moments,” Roy whispers, soothingly rubbing his hand up his back. He scoots forward, tilting Edward’s hips up until there’s enough room for him to guide the head of his cock to his dripping hole, and he can’t help watching the way Alphonse’s cock spears into his brother but then he’s pushing in alongside him and Edward is impossibly tight around them.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Alphonse chants, holding still, his arms tucked under Edward’s back, clinging to him.

Edward’s eyes are closed, tears streaming from beneath his fluttering lashes, and his mouth is wide open, drool leaking from the corner of his lips. He’s gasping, his entire body stiff as he struggles to adjust to the overwhelming burn of having both of his lovers inside his little hole.

“Oh, glory. You’re both, I cannot– “ Roy presses his forehead to Alphonse’s shoulder blade, his body trembling as he fights the urge to empty within Edward’s fluttering walls, to coat them both in his spend, “you feel magnificent, I am unworthy– you are divinity personified and I am but a mere mortal– “

“Can– Can I– “ Edward manages, dragging his eyes open halfway, chest heaving. His voice is hoarse, a rasping wheeze, and Roy can barely speak at how glorious he looks, trapped beneath his younger brother.

Alphonse is trembling, teeth sinking into the meat of Edward’s shoulder to prevent a premature eruption. Roy can feel every shiver running through them both, like a string of earthquakes threatening to shatter them into tiny pieces. Both of them fight to hold off, fight to hang on until he gives them the okay to let go.

“Yes,” he snarls, pulling out only to shove back in, setting a ferocious pace that has them both moaning. This won’t last, it can’t possibly but surprisingly Alphonse is the first to come, moaning around the flesh in his mouth. He spills hot inside Edward, around Roy, and then Edward is coming with a tremulous shriek, a sound that hangs high-pitched and wavering in the air around them until it cuts off with a gasp. And then he’s squeezing so tightly around them that it’s painful and Roy can manage only a few more thrusts before he, too, is spilling, filling Edward with ribbons of hot cum.

Roy is trembling, nearly boneless but he pulls out first, allowing Alphonse to roll off of Edward with a choked whimper. They’re all soaked in sweat and exhausted but Roy needs to get Edward untied, get them all wiped off and feed them something before they go to bed. Edward’s hands fall limp to the bed when he unfastens the rope, his eyes still closed. For a moment, Roy fears they’ve killed him but then he’s shivering as a breeze wafts in through the balcony doors and Roy smiles down at them as they curl into each other.

“Mm, lay down, Roy,” Alphonse whispers, voice raw.

Edward hums his agreement, unable even to speak, and they look so inviting that Roy can’t resist joining them, slipping down beside Edward and throwing an arm over both of them, pulling them into his body heat.

“Did we break you, brother?” Alphonse giggles.

Edward only murmurs something incoherent, his body completely relaxed, uncaring of the cum seeping from his hole, drying on his belly. Roy presses a kiss to his shoulder, his neck. He stretches to give Alphonse a tender kiss but that’s all he can manage before he yawns, nuzzling into the gnarled nest of Edward’s hair.

“We still need to eat,” he says mid-yawn but both of his husbands are already drifting into sleep.

Roy smiles fondly and allows himself to rest, safe in the knowledge that they have thousands more nights just like this one, stretching years into their shared future.


End file.
